Into the Storm
by Godzillafan93
Summary: It began as an ordinary day in September, but for the citizens of Raccoon City, it would soon become a waking nightmare. Follows "Before the Storm."
1. Prologue: Nuit

**Into the Storm**

_ In late July of 1998, Bravo team, a section of the elite STARS unit, entered the Arklay Forest in search of a group of serial killers. Their mission went awry from the beginning; by the next morning, only half their original number was still alive. _

_ A relief force consisting of Alpha team entered the forest the next day, in search of their surviving comrades. But Alpha's insertion went south as well, and when the survivors regrouped in a seemingly abandoned mansion, they began to wonder if they had been so lucky after all…_

_ The mansion was a secret lab owned by the Umbrella corporation, who were using it to create the ultimate biological weapon: a plague capable of turning the living into mindless, flesh eating zombies._

_ Alpha team made contact with survivors of the previous expedition: Rebecca Chambers, the Bravo team medic; Richard Aiken, Bravo team's communication expert; and Mat Dawson, a member of the RPD's SWAT unit who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time._

_ Mat and Rebecca had spent the previous night surviving their own nightmares: two other facilities located in the Forest. Rebecca found herself trapped inside an abandoned Umbrella training center with Billy Coen, a man she believed to be a mass murderer. Mat encountered a group of Umbrella mercenaries sent to secure another plant, this one the ultra-modern Hive. Both facilities were ultimately destroyed through the efforts of the RPD officers and their allies, but the entire UBCS team was killed in action._

_ Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, and Barry Burton, with Rebecca and Mat in tow, managed to escape the mansion, but only after it was revealed that their captain, Albert Wesker, had been on Umbrella's payroll the entire time. Wesker, blinded by greed, released Umbrella's ultimate creation: a giant, undead humanoid called Tyrant. Wesker soon met his own end at the monster's hands, before it was finally killed by Chris. Rescued, the officers returned to Raccoon City, expecting the worst to be over._

_ But Umbrella's reach was longer than they had expected. Brian Irons, Chief of Police, was on their payroll. He used the RPD to suppress the story of Umbrella's wrongdoings. Umbrella agents began to tail the survivors, lurking around every corner._

_ Barry Burton, desperate to protect his family, fled north into Canada. Brad Vickers, ever the coward, made his own escape for parts unknown. Chris Redfield made contact with an anti-Umbrella group in England, leaving the States to meet them. Rebecca Chambers, whose faith and resolve had been shaken in the mansion, turned in her badge and quietly left the scene._

_ That left just Jill and Mat in Raccoon City, trying to deal with a conspiracy whose scope and depth none of them could fully grasp. But in the end, all plans, both those of the rogue members of the RPD and Umbrella, are about to be undone by a single, unforeseen and dreadful act, which will have far reaching consequences for all players._

_ The stage had been set; all pieces are in play. The calm before the storm is about to end. And when it does, the world will never be the same again._

Prologue: _Nuit_

(ISAACS)

They hung in suspended animation: six of Umbrella's most lethal creation, the Tyrant series 103. They were enormous, each about eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and a box like build. Each BOW weighed several tons, and their enormous fists could punch through titanium plating.

_And they're all about to be obsolete _Samuel Isaacs thought, with no small degree of pride. At a little under six feet tall, he wasn't a very physically intimidating man; looking at him, one never would have suspected he was a genius with viral and biological weaponry. That was part of what made so dangerous, as so many rivals had discovered to their displeasure over the years.

One Tyrant lay on the table. A group of about a dozen lab technicians swarmed around it, while another kept watch over a computer display of its vitals. At the moment, the Tyrant was asleep. It was the technicians' job to make sure it stayed that way.

Isaacs wasn't taking direct part in the operation, even though it had been his idea. Instead, he stood high above the operating theater.

"The creature will be nearly unstoppable" said the short, dark haired woman beside him. At five foot nothing, Christine Henri was even smaller than Isaacs. She wasn't as smart as the scientist, but she was even more ruthless. They had been friends for years.

Unfortunately, she had an irritating habit of talking too much. Trying to discourage her, Isaacs simply nodded.

Henri wouldn't take a hint, though. "How did you get this admittedly brilliant but somewhat strange idea?" she asked. The question was stilted and unnatural; clearly someone else had put her up to it. Isaacs immediately was on his guard. Someone, probably Henri, but just as easily someone else, was after his research. Once they got it, he'd be of no use. He knew the routine, having been the executor of similar plans.

"I was just trying to find a way to exploit the parasite's durability" Isaacs replied casually. "I knew had these equally impressive creatures down here in cold storage, and…It just came to me."

Their conversation came to a welcome end a few seconds later, when two more technicians entered the theatre, carrying with them a small container.

"There it is" breathed Henri softly.

Isaacs repressed a small shudder. The organism in the container below was but a small portion of what Daniel Greene had cultivated inside the Hive, which had, in turn, been extracted from the horribly abused and mutilated Lisa Trevor. In its current form, the parasite was less dangerous than the sixty foot guardian monster inside the Hive; nonetheless, it was still potent, and Umbrella wasn't taking any chances. If containment was broken, the entire operating theatre would be sterilized with incendiaries. There would be no trace of it left…or of anyone inside.

The Tyrant was lying naked on its stomach. One of the technicians applied a large saw to its back, the rotating blade slowly cutting into the monster's skin. After cutting a few centimeters deep, he took a step back, allowing the two techs with the parasite to step forward. They did so cautiously, holding the container just above the open wound.

One looked up at the viewing room. "Do we have permission to apply the NE-parasite?"  
>Isaacs nodded, keying the booth's microphone. "Do it."<p>

The next action was quick. At the push of a button, the container lid opened. The technicians flicked their wrists, dumping its contents onto the Tyrant's back. The small fragment of the parasite fell forward, landing on the BOW's open wound.

Despite all the anesthetic it had been dosed with, the T-103 stirred, flexing its shoulders and growling deeply in its throat. The techs backed away nervously, but the Tyrant suddenly relaxed as the parasite worked its way into the monster's body. It shuddered again, once, then slowly rose to its feet.

Isaacs, with a somewhat reluctant Henri in tow, hurried down to the operation theatre.

"Are you sure this is safe?" the French woman asked, her accent coming out in her stressed condition.

Isaacs smiled grimly. "We're about to find out."

The NE/Tyrant was still standing in the center of the room when he and Henri entered, completely motionless but for the heave of its chest as it slowly breathed in and out.

"I don't understand, doctor" said one of the technicians. "We've given this thing enough drugs to keep an elephant down. How can it be on its feet?"

Isaacs smiled faintly. "This is a most impressive creature." He turned toward the Tyrant. "Identify yourself."  
>The BOW opened its large, lipless mouth. "TYRANT DESIGNATE T-109" it said, its voice deep and growly, like something that had escaped from hell. Isaacs, who had modified its vocal chords for just that, was pleased by the effect.<p>

"And what is your directive?" he asked next. They had preprogrammed a mission into the Tyrant's brain; the parasite hadn't overwritten its name, so hopefully, its higher functions would also still be intact.

The Tyrant deep voice rumbled in the small space.

"ELIMINATION OF DESGINATED TARGETS BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY."

Behind him, Henri shuddered. Isaacs just grinned. He looked over at the technicians. "Well done, gentlemen. With this, Umbrella will avenge itself on its foes." He turned back to the Tyrant. "And who are those designated targets?"

The Tyrant uttered just one word. "STARS."

(HUNK)

He had a Steyr TMP in his hands. It was a short weapon, with a fixed stock; it had a decently fast rate of fire, and it was comfortable for him to shoot. As far as weapons went, there wasn't much for him to ask for.

The two survivors of GOBLIN team had identical weapons. The French team, however, had opted for the heavier MP5K. HUNK had used that particular SMG before; he loathed the thing. But the French liked its rate of fire, even if it was difficult to shoulder fire.

The eight-man USS team was making its way through waist deep sewer water. One of the French troops kept up a small, steady commentary on that in his native language; the others ignored him.

The Umbrella lab in Raccoon City was a pretty slick setup, HUNK had to admit. It was located directly below the town's main police HQ; from there, a short trip through the sewers led them into the lab's uppermost floor. After that, it was all downhill, literally, since they'd be entering along the lab's emergency tram system.

There was someone waiting for them up ahead. A woman, young, with brown hair up in a ponytail and a bright orange jacket. She looked nervous and out of place. HUNK realized she was Monica Green, their contact.

"Report" he barked when he was closer.

"Doctor Birkin is out" Green replied. "He keeps the samples with in a briefcase; I don't know where he keeps them and…I-I couldn't get close enough to secure them."

HUNK nodded. "Understood. When will he return?"

Green checked her watch. "About five hours from now. Why?"

"We'll be waiting when he gets back."


	2. On An Ordinary Day in September

Chapter 1:

On An Ordinary Day in September…

(YOKO)

It was cold today. That, for some reason, stuck out to Yoko Suzuki. Like an omen, or something. She wasn't quite sure. She wasn't a particularly superstitious person.

She wasn't very impulsive, either, which made it all the more strange that she'd decided to cut her classes today. For some reason, going to school…just didn't seem like a good idea.

She was, instead, wondering the streets of Raccoon City. She'd known it would be cold, so she'd worn her jacket. She wished she'd worn something thicker than jeans, though; there wasn't much she could do about it. For some reason, going back to her apartment seemed like a pretty bad idea too.

She was wondering down the sidewalk, minding her own business, when she heard someone shout from behind her.

"Outta the way!" an authoritative voice called out.

Yoko, ever passive, did as instructed; a second later and she would've been run over by the trio of police officers who rushed past, weapons out. Up ahead, she could see more cops, surrounding a building. A group of people were gathered around the police's outer perimeter, jockeying for the best position.

Yoko didn't have any desire to try and wade through the morass of people. Instead, she headed down a side alley, hoping to escape the clog of gawkers.

She heard something rusting in the trash bin to her left, and shuddered. She really hated rats…

Then she heard a different noise from around the corner. A wet, slurping sound, and a low grunt. Against her own better judgment, Yoko crept forward.

"H-hello?" she called out tentatively, huddling low as she did so. Yoko had always been timid, and there was something decidedly off about this. Still, she kept going forward, into the dark alley.

She heard something shift up ahead. Something big.

"Um…Is someone there?" she called out.

All she received in response was a low moan, and a soft shuffling sound. A sound that was slowly coming toward her…

Despite herself, Yoko took a step back. And another. "Are…are you okay?"

By way of answer, she got an odd grunting wheeze. Then something lunged out of the alley at her. Yoko yelped in surprise, stepping backward…and tripping over her own feet. She twisted at the last second, landing on her hip and elbows, crawling back from…whatever had come out of the alley at her. Quickly she scrambled to her feet, staggering forward, bent down as she drunkenly hurried out of the alley.

She almost ran headfirst into the man, stopping just short of contact. "Oh, sorry sir" she managed quickly. "I didn't-Oh my God!"

The person standing before her couldn't possible be still on his feet. His clothing was old and tattered, marking him as homeless. He was soaked in a dark brown _something_, which Yoko belatedly recognized as blood. His fingers were flexing slowly, and his whole body kept randomly twitching, like he was having a fit. His head was cocked to the left, causing Yoko to think he was having a stroke. A low, fast paced panting noise escaped from his partially opened mouth.

With a clumsy step forward on angles that appeared to have been bent inwards, the homeless man came toward her. Behind her, Yoko heard whatever had been in the alley as it too closed in. Yoko took a deep breath and dashed forward, past the open arms of the homeless man, back toward the street and the police.

"Help, somebody!" she shouted. "Please, someone, I need-" She broke off in a sudden scream as the lid of the garbage dumpster suddenly flew upward, revealing yet another homeless person, this one a woman, inside. She stretched her arms toward Yoko, moaning incoherently.

"Ugh" Yoko said disgustedly, staying as far away as she could from the grabber in the dumpster. She backed away, toward the street…and into someone else. "No, get back!" she cried, spinning around, striking at the person in front of her.

The stranger caught her closed fist, keeping it from hitting his face. "That's not very nice" he commented.

Yoko took a deep breath. This guy looked normal. In fact, he looked kind of familiar, but she couldn't quite place where from. Her memory had been spotty for the past two years; it was extremely irritating. He was about her age, a little taller, a little pudgy, but with the air of someone who knew how to handle himself. "What's the rush?" he asked.

Yoko pointed wordlessly behind her; she wasn't in the best shape of her life, and her adrenaline was wearing off. "Tried…grab…me."

A look of anger crossed the familiar stranger's face. "What? Back there?" He offered her his hand. "C'mon, show me."

Yoko looked at the offered hand, then back at him. The last thing she wanted to do was go back into that alley…

"It's okay" he said, trying to calm her down. "I'm a cop." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open…for a few seconds. Yoko had enough time to see Raccoon Police Department, and then it was closed again. "You can trust me."

Yoko took his hand and he pulled her up, then motioned for her to stay behind him. He reached behind his back, pulling a long, thin knife from underneath his jacket. "Let's go see how tough these creeps are now, huh?" He moved forward slowly, his legs bent to make himself smaller. After a moment, he seemed to notice Yoko wasn't following him. "It's okay. I'll protect you."

Yoko was staring at his knife, or more specifically, the small emblem set into the hilt. "Where did you get that?" she asked, her voice suddenly taut.

He looked down at the knife, then back at her. "A friend gave it to me a few months ago, before she…died. Why?"

Something was stirring in Yoko's mind; something she hadn't known was there. She remembered lost of white: a big, sterile room; men and women in long coats. One was a tall, moderately good-looking man in his mid thirties, with slight stubble on his face.

"It's okay, Yoko. Just a slight pinch…_now._" Then pain. Terrible, unbearable pain.

"What's wrong?" asked the stranger, and Yoko realized she'd cried out in agony. She was on the ground, and didn't remember falling again.

A second later, there was an answering call from behind the stranger. "Shit!" he exclaimed, spinning around to see the two homeless people who had attacked Yoko earlier stumbling toward them. The woman had climbed out of the garbage bin, but had apparently decided to take part of her old lodgings with her. She had the same drunken stagger as the man, and both reeked to high heaven.

"Oh God" muttered the stranger, gagging at the smell. "Shit!" He looked over his shoulder at Yoko. "Stay back!" Before she could comply, he'd slid the knife back into his waistband…and had pulled out a chromed handgun.

Yoko spent a moment goggling at that, then let out the breath she'd been holding in for the past few seconds when, without preamble, the stranger shot both homeless people through the head. He didn't pause, didn't hesitate; he just pulled the trigger, business-like. BLAM! BLAM! And both people were on the ground, blood pooling around their bodies.

The stranger turned to look at Yoko. "Jesus!" He looked back at the bodies. "How-?" He turned back to Yoko. "Were there more?"

Yoko just stood there, staring at him for a moment.

"_Were there more_?" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stones of the buildings they were sandwiched between. Yoko jumped at the sound of his voice, then nodded.

"Shit" he muttered again, looking back into the dark alley. "Figures. I was afraid of that. Stay here, I'll be-"

"On your knees!" Yoko spun around from where she lay, to see two of the cops who'd run past her standing at the mouth of the alley. Both had their weapons leveled on at the stranger.

"Calm down, guys!" he protested. "I just-"

"On the ground!" barked one, stepping forward. "Drop your weapon and get on your knees!"

The stranger did as he was told, carefully placing his handgun on the ground, then putting his hands behind his head. "You're making a big mistake." He looked over at Yoko. "I saved her life. Tell them I saved your life!" His voice had a pleading edge to it, a sound of desperation.

Yoko was stunned. She had no idea what was going on. She just sat there, numbly, as the two cops stepped forward, one with a pair of handcuffs. The other reached down and plucked the handgun from the alley beside him.

"Well, well" he clucked. "Dawson, I don't recall you having a permit for this .45." He examined it closely. "Don't recall you being in the Marines, either."

Then he looked up and saw the two bodies sprawled in the alleyway. "Son of a bitch!" he and his partner exclaimed at roughly the same time. Then the one with cuffs shoved the stranger onto his stomach and began to handcuff him. "Mathias Dawson, you have the right to remain silent. You-"

"Oh, damn it, shut up" Dawson said irritably as his hands were roughly bound behind his back. "I'm a cop, ass wipe. I know how this whole thing works."

The arresting officer shoved him harder into the ground. "Then shut up, wise guy" he growled.

"He _is_ a cop" Yoko spoke up. "I saw his badge."

The cop cuffing Dawson looked over at her, and chuckled. "Not anymore, he ain't. He's been on suspension for the past few months. Don't you watch the news? This fucker's _crazy_." Yoko shook her head.

The other cop stepped forward and helped her to her feet. He looked like the less…confident of the two, with a chubby face that made him look like a baby, messy blonde hair, and small glasses which perched on his short nose. "I'm Harry" he said, helping her up. "Are you okay, Miss?"

Yoko nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"It's not safe!" Dawson exclaimed as the other officer hauled him away. "Listen to me! Down in the alley, there's a-!"

The other officer slammed him into a wall. "Didn't I tell you to shut it?" he growled menacingly. He looked over his shoulder at Harry. "Let's go, back to the action. And take her with you. We need her statement."

Officer Harry turned back to Yoko. "Come on, Miss. We need to take your statement." He seemed more confident when repeating someone else's words, Yoko noticed.

She nodded. "Sure, lead the way."

She followed quickly behind the two officers, glad to be out of the alley. She'd survived encounters with violent homeless people and a crazed police officer. Maybe cutting class today _hadn't_ been such a good idea after all…

She was already gone when the faint sounds of moaning began to drift down the alley.

(MAT)

Officer Nicholas Brown. Mat had never been a big fan of the man; he was overzealous and by the book, even when a more moderate approach was needed. He fired from the hip, so to speak, regardless of what he was aiming at; he just assumed knew what he was doing.

Judging by the way he shoved Mat into the back of the squad car, Brown had never been a big fan of _him_, either. "Stay here" he growled as he shoved Mat into the small metal box behind the driver's seat. The bench was stained and soiled; people tended to not be very happy when they had to sit back here, and they often vented their frustration on the upholstery.

"Where do you think I'm going to go?" Mat asked. Brown just glared at him, then stalked away.

Mat focused on the building the car was parked near; the building with police ringing it. It was a tall, Depression-era apartment complex, with a spider web of fire escapes on one side and a façade that was dirt-brown, but had probably been built that way. In truth, it didn't look much different than the other buildings around it, but for Mat, it held a special significance.

He lived there.

He'd gone out in the morning, after getting the journal, and had been wandering around the neighborhood when he noticed all the cops descending on it. Curious, he'd followed them, and the sirens had led him back-

"Home" he said quietly.

The radio at the front of the squad car squawked. "ATTENTION, ALL UNITS. WE HAVE REPORTS OF MORE CIVIL DISTURBANCE IN RAVEN'S GATE. RAVEN'S GATE PD REQUESTS BACKUP."

SWAT was here, Mat realized. It was Alpha team, the HRT expert unit; Mat recognized their van, although he didn't know any of them particularly well. They had apparently kicked a door down, and were leading a group of cuffed people outside, where they were taken over by a group of regular cops.

Mat tensed when one of the handcuffed individuals, an older man who he'd seen every day but never actually spoken more than a dozen words to, lunged forward and bit down hard a nearby cop's shoulder.

"_Shit_" said Mat, not loudly, but with feeling. He tried to force the door open, but, of course, it was locked. He used his knee, trying to shake the lock loose, as he watched the scene unfold.

The cop staggered backwards as the old man worried at his shoulder, shaking his head from side to side like a dog. A half dozen police rushed forward and tried to pull the two apart; it took all their strength to save their comrade. They shoved the old man onto the street, where one began to work a mask over his head with the air of someone who'd had lots of practice. Another officer motioned to the wounded cop, indicating a trio of ambulances nearby. There was already a short line of people, both cops and residents, standing or sitting nearby, all of whom were pressing bandages to various wounds on their arms and upper bodies.

Brown returned to the car, yanking open the driver's side door and sitting down heavily in front of Mat.

"Listen to me" Mat pleaded. "Those people are in danger. There's a-"

Brown looked over his shoulder. "Shut _up_. Just sit back there and be a good boy. Not that it'll make things any better for _you_, but it'll make my job a little easier."

Mat sat back; it went against every single bone in his body, but he knew there wasn't anything he could do. All the same, he felt like he should wash his hands.

Looking at the small knot of wounded people in front of the ambulance, he had a feeling there was going to be a lot of blood on them.


	3. Worst Day Ever

Chapter 2: Worst. Day. Ever.

(BIRKIN)

_When a true genius appears, he will be thwarted at every turn by a confederacy of dunces_. Someone had told William Birkin that, or something very to similar, at a young age. It had been so long ago, and such a useless and asinine statement he'd discounted it. Now, though, he was beginning to sympathize with whoever had said it.

_He_ certainly had to deal with his fair of idiots. Take his lab assistant, the pasty-faced little man who seemed locked in perpetual cringe and who trailed after Birkin like an abused puppy. Jason Fellows had been in Umbrella's employ for seven years, and while it had been faithful service, William still wished his assistant was someone with a little more intelligence. Granted, on some level he recognized a smarter man in Fellows' place would be a threat, but all the same…

Then there was Brian Irons, Chief of Police in this delightful little town. The man was a bore, and a fool, and a prick, and several other even less complimentary things Birkin didn't have the energy to contemplate. Worse, the man remained convinced the two were actually _friends_. As if a man like William Birkin had any use for someone as stupid as Brian Irons…

Still, when he'd gotten the call from Irons this morning, Birkin had been a little anxious. _What if he knows?_ The thought had run through his suddenly panicked mind as he raised the receiver to his ear.

But it was all for naught. Irons had sounded excited, not angry, and had said he had something to show William. Intrigued, he'd cleared his schedule, then, with Fellows in tow, had made their way to the main RPD headquarters in the renovated art museum.

Parking just outside the main gates, the two had made their way up the stone steps…only to notice there was a thin coating of blood on the uppermost. Birkin paused and examined it for a moment, then shrugged and made his way up. Lagging behind, Fellows remained on his heels.

The lobby of the RPD building was more packed than Birkin had ever seen it. There were half a dozen officers packing shoulder arms and wearing the new dark blue Select Police Force uniforms wondering around, keeping watch over a group of people huddled in the corner, who seemed to be…

Fellows tensed behind him. "Doctor…" he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the group of zombies hand- and ankle-cuffed together.

"I know" said Birkin, much more calmly than he felt. "Just keep walking, and act like nothing is amiss." _Surely they can't tie this to the Company_.

Birkin had learned when he and Annette arrived for work in the morning that, at about three-thirty AM, two sanitation workers had been found mauled to death by _something_ in the sewers just above his lab. Clearly, containment had been breached, and clearly it had been by someone who'd then covered their tracks. Whatever BOW(s) had been released, it (or they) was (or were) nowhere to be found. And with reports of "civil unrest" coming in from all over the city…He hadn't pulled Sherry out of school today, but he knew Annette had contingency plans in place in case the worst should happen. They had been made for if (and when) the Company decided he was taking too long on his research, but they'd work just as well if there were a sudden outbreak of the T-virus within the city.

Birkin made his way to the large, broken-rectangle shaped desk in the center of the lobby. He had to cough twice to get the distracted duty officer's attention (she kept glancing over at the moaning mass in the corner), at which point he gave her his name and asked where Chief Irons was.  
>"He's back that way" she said vaguely, gesturing to her left, where Birkin remembered there being interrogation rooms.<p>

"Thanks so much" he said dryly, before turning and heading where she'd pointed.

He hated coming to the RPD building, and it had nothing to do with Brian Irons; he'd hated the place when it was an art museum, too. Aside from the fact that the place had been a monument to society's idle masses (after all, what else were artists good for but sucking up government money), the place was all odd angles and sharp corners; the most impractical structure imaginable.

He found Irons soon enough; the barrel of a man was standing in front of a closed metal door, an extremely angry looking black man in riot gear standing to his left. Irons gave Fellows a questioning look, then turned to Birkin.

"Doctor, it's so good you could get here so quickly" he said, his voice almost fawning in his eagerness to impress William. Unlike Fellows, he was more like a lost puppy, desperate to win his master's approval.

"Well, it seemed so urgent" Birkin replied. "Now, you said you had something for me-?" He let his voice trail off, suggestively.

"Oh!" exclaimed Irons, turning to the riot cop. "Captain Welles, if you please?"

The black man pulled a small, leather bound book out of his vest pocket and handed it to Birkin.

William looked down at the volume in his hands, at first not understanding as he tried to decipher the somewhat familiar, spidery handwriting on the cover. Then, suddenly, he recognized what it said. "Oh, wow" he said softy; for a man who controlled his emotions as tightly as William Birkin did, this was the equivalent of screaming obscenities at the ceiling.

"We didn't open it" Irons said, as if that were some sort of major concession. Of course, had he said anything else, Birkin would have drawn the compact magnum in his pocket and splattered the police chief's brains all over the walls. Over something as sensitive as the late Doctor Marcus's operations journal, Umbrella wouldn't want him to take any chances.

"It's good that you got this to me" Birkin said, disgusted at the way that made Irons smile even wider. "Where did you find it?"

The riot cop, Welles, answered instead. "One of my men confiscated it from a prisoner we were processing in the room behind me" he explained, gesturing over his shoulder unnecessarily.

"May I speak with him?" Birkin asked.

Irons and Welles exchanged looks.

"Of course" said the chief of police. After a meaningful glare from Birkin, he turned to Welles. "Come, let's go back to the lobby. I need to keep abreast of the current situation."

Birkin waited for the two police to round the corner and walk out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside.

The interrogation room was cold and dark, lit by a single naked bulb at the center, which cast odd shadows on the walls. The room was Spartan: just a single, metal table, and some equally bare-boned chairs. Because of the lighting, it took Birkin a moment to recognize who was sitting at the other end of the room. But when he did, he stopped, staring in disbelief.

"What are the odds?" he muttered.

The young police officer looked up, his eyes already adjusted to the dim light. "Who are you?" he demanded. Then he noticed the pin on Birkin's shirt. "Umbrella? What are _you_ doing here?"

Birkin smiled maliciously, holding up the journal. "Just recovering some company property. I'll bet you and your STARS friends thought you'd be able to use this to expose Umbrella's wicked ways, correct?" He pushed the book into his pocket. "Well, I'll remove that temptation from your path. How did you come by it, anyway? You weren't at the UMTC; that was the girl officer and the stranger Albert didn't recognize."

The wheels inside the young police officer's head were very obviously turning. Birkin had snorted derisively. Clearly this one was no danger mentally; he was a grunt, no more. Still, even the stupid sometimes got lucky. "You knew Wesker" he said after a few seconds of unnecessary thought over a point which ought to have been immediately obvious. "And you were watching Rebecca and Coen, weren't you?"

Birkin nodded. "Bravo, Mr.…well, your name isn't important, is it?" He shrugged. "Now, in answer to _my_ question…?"

"It was a gift" the officer replied. Then his tone changed "But that's not the important thing. When we blew up the mansion-"

"_You_ blew up the mansion?" Birkin interrupted. "Well done. That certainly saved us the trouble." Then something else occurred to him. "You were in contact with the STARS Alpha team, correct?" He waited for the police officer's nod. "You…you don't know what happened to Albert, do you?"

He snorted derisively. "Yeah, I know what happened to dear old Wesker. After trying to murder my best friend, he got his guts ripped out by something called Tyrant. Serves the bastard right, too."

_Tyrant? Good Lord, he wasn't trying to _release _the thing, was he?_ Birkin cast the thought aside. With Albert dead, there was no way for him to know, anyway. He sighed. Albert Wesker had been one of the few people whom he _really_ trusted, implicitly.

Birkin could see he would get no more answers from this uncouth young man. Turning, he motioned to Fellows.

"Wait!" the officer called out. "You've got to listen to me! If you don't, lots of innocent people are going to die!"

Birkin paused, feeling a small stab of pity for the misguided fool. He turned around.

"There's been a leak somewhere, and the T-virus is out in the city. You know what that means, right? Please, tell me you know?" The police officer was almost pleading, begging Birkin to listen to him. "Please. There has to be some sort of containment protocol or _something_. You've got to help the police stop it."  
>Birkin snorted, gesturing to the young man's handcuffs. "Yes, because the police seem so interested in containing this outbreak. That's why they've got one of the few people who could do anything about it locked up in their HQ, correct?"<p>

The young man scowled. "You're just going to wash your hands of this and move on? That may have worked in the Forest, but an entire _city_? Don't you think someone will notice?"

Birkin laughed. "You'd be amazed at how much influence Umbrella has."

"If you know so much about Umbrella, then you've gotta know they'll come for you, too" the officer said, trying a new tactic. "I mean, _come on_. The guy who destroyed Raccoon City? Do you think they'll just let that go?" He took a deep breath. "Work with STARS. Help us expose Umbrella, and…we'll guarantee your safety."

Now Birkin laughed out loud. "You? _You_ are going to protect _me_? I fail to see how you'll accomplish that, considering that you're handcuffed to a table."

"Get me out of here, and I'll-"

"No, I think I've wasted enough of my time with you. Good day." He walked away, the young officer's shouts penetrating the heavy metal door.

The drive back to the Umbrella labs was quiet. Still, judging by the amount of police cars Birkin counted on the way, things were going south in a hurry. _Time to get out_ he decided.

He tracked down Annette. It wasn't especially hard; his wife was always in the botanical lab. She'd had a green thumb the entire time he'd known her; the woman simply _loved_ plants.

She looked up, a smile playing across her face when she caught sight of him. He felt guilty when it quickly disappeared, chased away by concern when she saw the look on his face. "What is it?" she asked, striding toward him.

He had a quick look around, to make sure they were alone (Fellows was outside watching the door), then spoke quickly. "Things have gotten bad on the surface. Bad enough that we need to consider a vacation. A _long_ vacation."

Annette's eyes widened. This was all part of their preplanned code. _Vacation_ mean they needed to get out of town for a few days, but eventually they'd be able to come home. A _long_ vacation, on the other hand, was closer to full-blown upheaval. The Birkins were leaving Raccoon City, and they wouldn't be coming back.

"Are you packed?" she asked; if he said no, then they still had time to get ready…

"Everything we need is in the car" William replied, making a face to show he was lying; they'd be leaving with the clothes on their backs. Annette grimaced as well; she wasn't materialistic, but clearly she didn't like the idea of leaving _everything_. "I need to grab my briefcase from the office, then we'll be able to go."

Annette nodded, recognizing the next piece of code. "I'll call the school; tell them to have Sherry ready to go."

"Good" William nodded.

Annette cast a look at the door. William knew she could see Fellows' shadow through the frosted glass. "Is Jason coming too?"

"He _does_ have some off time coming. Maybe he'll decide to tag along."

Annette didn't look thrilled, but nodded. Then she leaned close and brushed her lips briefly across his. "I love you" she said quietly.

William smiled faintly; such displays were unusual for her. "I love you too" he replied, then looked down at his watch. "You'd better get Sherry. I'll see you soon."

Parting with Annette, William headed back downstairs, to the basement where he had his own, personal lab, Fellows once again trailing along behind him. Birkin had decided to take his assistant along; the man really _was_ like a pet, and there was no sense in leaving him aboard a ship that was clearly sinking. Besides, the pragmatic part of his mind told Birkin Fellows could be sacrificed to buy the rest of them time to escape, if necessary.

There was someone waiting for them by the elevator. A woman; _something_ Green. She looked extremely nervous.

"D-doctor Birkin" she stammered. "You-you're back."

"Clearly" he replied, brushing past her toward the lift.

"I may have found the source of the containment breach" she said urgently. Birkin turned to look at her.

"Someone opened the cold-storage for the MA-121's. I-I found one of the guards, frozen nearby. It looks like one of the Hunters got out, killed him, then made its way to the surface. W-would you like me to show you?"

Birkin shook his head. _Now there are _Hunters_ on the loose?_ "That can't be the source of the leak. Hunters aren't a vector for Tyrant. Somewhere, something else must've gotten loose. Double check the pens, especially where we keep the Eliminators." He turned to Fellows. _Tough luck_. "Go with her. I want this chased down."

"Yes Doctor Birkin" they both said, in something eerily approaching unison.

Birkin turned to the elevator and stepped inside. He just needed to grab the samples; then he'd be on his way. With T and G in hand, there wasn't a pharmaceutical company in the world that wouldn't want him. He'd already sent discreet overtures to WilPharma and S; TriCell was also interested in his work. His future would be secure, assuming he made it out of this in one piece.

"Assuming" he muttered to himself as the elevator doors closed.

(FELLOWS)

"But Doctor Birkin said-" Jason Fellows protested, only to have Monica cut him off.

"I know" she replied, walking quickly about half a step behind him. "But I _really_ think we need to double check cold storage."

They rounded a corner, where the large steel tubes containing the hunters stood, humming softly like the enormous refrigerators they were. The lid of one was open, just as Monica had said. And lying slumped against it was…

"Oh God!" exclaimed Fellows, hurrying over to the bloodied guard. He knelt beside the man, feeling for a pulse. "He's still alive!" he shouted to Monica. "Hurry, get a-hang on…" He paused, examining the wounds on the guard's body. "These aren't from a Hunter, they're from-"

He heard a loud BANG, followed by another, and suddenly his world was full of pain. He found himself lying on his stomach, footsteps coming toward him. Someone's shoe came to rest on his shoulder, and suddenly he was on his back, staring up at Monica, a smoking Beretta Cougar in her hands.

"Still alive?" she asked, shaking her head. "Damn. First the guard, now you. I really should've practiced more with this. My apologies." Then she leveled the handgun at his forehead.

Fellows saw a bright flash-

(BIRKIN)

William grabbed the slammed the lid shut on his metal attaché case. Inside were vials containing dear old Doctor Marcus's Tyrant virus, as well as William's life's work, his masterpiece: the Gene virus, in all its glory. With them, he could-

The electronic door hissed open behind him. Birkin spun around, jerking the Beretta 8357 out of his pocket as he did so. Standing at the far end of the room were two men, clad in black riot gear, complete with gas masks. Both carried automatic shoulder arms, which were leveled on him.

"Doctor Birkin, give us the sample" said one, his voice distorted by the filter.

Birkin chuckled, recognizing the man all the same. "Mr. Death, correct? They sent you. I'm flattered, _but_…" He gestured with his pocket magnum. "You don't think I'll just _hand over_ my life's work, do you?"

"Please, make this easy for us" replied Mr. Death, a weary edge on his voice. "We're already five hours behind schedule."

Birkin grinned condescendingly. "_Five hours_? My, aren't we a persistent bunch? Well, why don't you just set down your weapons and-" He took a step back, his right arm cocked to keep the Beretta leveled, when his elbow caught an empty test tube, sending it clattering to the floor.

The sound of its breaking was drowned out by the second soldier's SMG as he suddenly opened fire, bullets tearing through William's body. He felt the breath suddenly escape his lungs, not through his mouth, but from the new holes in his chest. With a surprised gasp, he collapsed to the ground.

(HUNK)

This _is why I work alone_.

"Cease fire!" he barked, yanking down the French USS soldier's weapon. "You'll hit the sample." He'd also just murdered one of Umbrella's best scientists, and while that had always been in the cards as a possibility, HUNK had been hoping to avoid it. _Oh well_.

He stepped forward, past the dying doctor, and pried the case from his stiffening fingers. For a brief moment, he felt the absurd urge to _apologize_ to Birkin. Rationally, he knew there was no reason for that, but all the same…HUNK had never had to deal with collateral damage. It wasn't a sensation he enjoyed.

Then he keyed his microphone. "This is HUNK. We have the sample."

"About time" replied the Umbrella controller petulantly. HUNK was annoyed; the controller had been in his room in the Apple Inn across town while the USS soldiers had spent the last few hours in the sewers. It didn't seem fair, somehow. HUNK only knew the other agent's location in case they needed to make direct contact with him; not a factor now. "Proceed to the surface. Extraction will meet you there."

"Understood. HUNK out."

_Mission accomplished_ he thought. Somehow, he'd expected to feel more fulfilled.


	4. Aberration

Chapter 3: Aberration

(ANNETTE)

Annette Birkin was in a hurry. She needed to find William, and find him fast; nothing else mattered, not even their daughter. She _had_ to make sure he was safe, that he was warned.

"William, they just found Fellows in the-_oh God!_" She'd burst into the lab, only to find her husband propped up against a cabinet, a pool of blood surrounding him. "No" she said softly. "No, this can't be happening!"

He looked in her direction when he heard her. "An-nette" he said weakly, raising a hand feebly. "I'm…afraid our vacation is going to have to be postponed." He broke off suddenly in a fit of coughing.

Annette was at his side in an instant. "Shhh, don't talk" she soothed, assessing his wounds. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ see the obvious; that her husband was mortally wounded and bleeding out on the floor. "It's going to be okay."

William's eyes focused on her face after a moment. "Sh-Sherry?"

"I called the school" Annette replied. "They'll take her to the RPD building. We can pick her up there once you've been taken care of."

"Not…safe" William coughed.

"I told you, don't-"

He grabbed her arm, his grip strong but shaking. "Outbreak…theft…have to go." There was a hunted look in his eyes. "Please…_go_."

Slowly, Annette nodded. "Okay, but only to get someone to help you. I'm coming back." She stood to leave, then paused, knelt down beside him, and kissed his forehead. "I love you, and you're going to pull through this." Then she was gone, hurrying back into the corridor.

A technician saw her coming and tried to catch her attention. "Doctor Birkin! There's a containment leak! We have to evacuate! You must give the order, and call for a clean up team."

"No!" Annette shouted back. "Only William can do that!"

"But-" Annette had already dashed past the technician before he could even finish protesting. A second later, a long, pink spear thrust through his chest and yanked his startled form back into the room he'd just left. Annette didn't see any of that, though. She was in too big a hurry.

Silently, she began to pray to the God in Whom she'd lost faith in a few years before she joined the Company. _Please, let me save him. He's everything to me. Please._

(BIRKIN)

Annette was gone, and he hoped she wouldn't come back. Those hired guns might come back, and he couldn't bear the thought of them killing her too.

His whole body felt numb. William knew that was shock, knew it was his body trying to protect itself from the agony he ought to have been in. He could only hope he bled out before then. He'd never been one for pain…

There was something poking him in the back. He found he had enough strength left to reach back and see what it was. With his death so close, it seemed like an absurd thing to worry about, but all the same…

It was a syringe. A syringe containing a green substance. A very familiar substance.

Birkin felt a smile split across his face. _Not over yet_ he thought, pulling the small plastic bubble off the end of the needle. He took a second to prepare himself…then jammed the syringe into his stomach.

The sudden jolt of energy that washed over his broken body was like a livewire. His eyes suddenly snapped wide open. "I'm alive" he said quietly, then, realizing the magnitude of that statement, amended: "I'm _alive_!"

He stood up, ready to go find Annette, to reassure her, only-

Something was very, very wrong.

He felt his body tensing, his muscles enlarging, his spine _bending _ under the sudden weight of his back.

"Oh no" he said quietly, as he realized what was happening. "Oh, God no-"

There was a sudden stab of unbearable pain across his entire body.

Then William Birkin was no more.

(HUNK)

"Looks like somebody kicked the anthill" muttered GOBLIN 9 as the USS team hurried back to the elevator.

Though that wasn't how HUNK would have put it, it was nonetheless an apt description. Men and women in loud yellow jackets were dashing in all directions, shouting to one another about containment breeches and system failures in cold storage. No one was paying the Umbrella soldiers a second glance, though, so he wasn't inclined to complain.

There was the elevator, directly ahead. And, there was Green, standing just to the left of the doors, an anxious look on her face, a handgun clutched so tightly the knuckles of her right hand were white around the grip.

"Hurry!" she shouted. "Things are going to hell down here, and you don't want to wait around much longer."  
>"What's going on?" asked GOBLIN 6. "What's all this about a containment breach?"<p>

HUNK stepped past her, calling the elevator. He passed the briefcase to the French soldier who'd shot down Doctor Marcus. "Hold this" he ordered, letting some of his annoyance show. The man wouldn't be with the USS anymore when they got back to Paris; if HUNK had _his_ way, the other man wouldn't be going back at all.

"I broke the containers on some of the BOWs in the lab" Green said calmly. "I thought it would cover our escape."

HUNK, totally caught off guard by the offhanded statement, turned to stare at her. GOBLIN 9, again demonstrating his acute ability to sum things up nicely, blurted "Are you out of your fucking mind? Have you _seen_ what these things can do?"  
>Green nodded. "Believe me, you have no idea. But it will make it harder for them to find us if they have to-"<p>

"What's this us?" HUNK asked, calmly, his cool veneer returning.

"Well, I'm coming with you, of course-"

"Sorry, that was never part of the plan" HUNK said. "The chopper sent to extract us can only carry my team. You'll have to find your own way out."

"But I-"

The elevator arrived. HUNK and the other USS personnel stepped aboard. GOBLIN 9 turned to fire a last parting shot. "If you're unhappy with this arrangement, I suggest you bring it up at the next staff meeting" he said sarcastically. Then the doors slid closed, and they left Green standing in front, a look of stunned disbelief on her face.

A voice crackled in HUNK's helmet. "ETA?" the Umbrella agent asked.

HUNK pulled back the sleeve of his fatigues, checking his watch. "I'd suggest about ten to fifteen minutes. Have the chopper ready to go when we're at the surface. Also, I suggest you make your own exit plans. Things are getting a little dicey down here."

"Dicey?" the Umbrella agent echoed.

"Just have our extraction ready" HUNK snapped, stepping out into the sewer tunnel. He waved TIGE NUIT forward, to take point, while he and the two GOBLINs took up position around the briefcase.

They had not gone far, though, when a bestial roar echoed up from the level below.

"ARGHHHHHH!"

"What was _that_?" GONLIN 9 asked.

"I dunno" replied 6. "But it sounded pissed. And hungry."

HUNK turned to his team. "Recommend we make all possible haste to the surface. Any objections?" No one said a word. "Good. Double-time."

They started to sprint, glancing back over their shoulders every so often, but the darkness of the tunnels was already encroaching on them. As a precaution, they all activated their shoulder lights, keeping their weapons trained on the darkness around them.

"Status" demanded the Umbrella agent, just as something large and heavy landed on the tunnel floor in front of them.

The USS soldiers brought their weapons to bear, flashlights illuminating the abomination which stood before them.

"We…may be a little late" HUNK allowed, clicking the safety off the TMP.

"_Merde_" said one of the French soldiers quietly, as they all got a good look at what was barring their way.

It was obvious this thing had once been human. It was still wearing a somewhat familiar suit of clothes: dark colored slacks and a torn white lab coat. It even still had the same hair.

"Jesus" muttered GOBLIN 6. "What did you _do_ to him?"

The thing that had clearly once been William Birkin started toward them, one arm clenched into a fist. The other was distorted by a huge, tumor-like growth at the shoulder, which pulsed sickeningly. In _that_ hand was a large piece of broken pipe, held with a purpose.

"Protect the sample" said HUNK, stepping forward. "That's the most important thing."

"Let 'im have it!" shouted GOBLIN 6, taking a position behind and to his left.

The eight USS personnel opened fire with their 9mms, the rapid-fire weapons spitting a small sea of brass shell casings onto the metal floor of the tunnel. The thing that had once been Birkin ignored them, not even faltering in its advance toward the soldiers. HUNK took a step back, and felt something he hadn't experienced since he was a young orphan in Paris.

He felt fear.

"Back!" he shouted to the others. "We've gotta find another way around. Retreat!"

He cast a glance over his shoulder, to make sure his order was being followed. When he turned back around, the Birkin-thing was directly in front of him, raising its lead pipe…

With a crashing blow, it slammed into his chest, throwing him backwards, knocking the TMP out of his hands.

"No!" shouted GOBLIN 6 when he slammed into a wall and slid bonelessly into a pool of water. But HUNK didn't hear her.

He was already gone.

(JUGGERNAUT)

It seemed there was something important about the first soldier he attacked. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what. Then again, he couldn't remember much about _himself_, either; just that he'd suffered unimaginable pain at the hands of these people.

Another of the black-clad soldiers stepped forward, firing his weapon pointblank into its skin. It raised the pipe again, splitting the soldier's head open with it. He slid limply to the ground, a steady pool of blood spilling around him.

The others were falling back, trying to get as far away from him as possible. It continued on after them, an unstoppable juggernaut bent on vengeance for a wrong it didn't even remember.

One soldier tripped, falling on his back, trying to crawl away from it. Another, the only woman, stopped to help her comrade. It slammed the pipe into her with a vicious side-swipe, smashing her against the wall. There was an audible pop and she slumped to the ground, unmoving.

The downed soldier was still trying to fire his weapon one-handed, but it was more an annoyance than anything else. Still, the juggernaut could feel its body changing as each bullet struck him. It released its grip on the pipe as its fingers suddenly grew longer, hard bony protrusions extending out from them. With a deliberate motion, it slammed its new claws down into the man's body, running him completely through. The mortally wounded soldier's weapon flew into the air, hitting the floor and firing wildly, adding more chaos to the melee as rounds began to ricochet wildly down the tunnel.

It slashed the throat of another soldier who tried to protect his comrades in a bathroom; apparently he'd thought he could give his life to save his friends. The man directly behind him was thrown through a wall, opening an already existing crack wide enough for the juggernaut to follow the remaining two, who slowly backed up to a wall.

It slashed viciously across one's chest, opening his guts and spilling them onto the floor. The other tried to flee, only to find himself at a dead end. He screamed meaninglessly as the juggernaut approached.

His end was not quick.

Then the juggernaut stood alone in the blood-slicked corridor, staring down at the silver briefcase the last soldier had dropped. It seemed like there had been something important inside. Something about G…

The juggernaut couldn't remember, and didn't like to try. Unconcerned, it stepped on the case as it stalked away, crushing the thin metal under its heavy feet and destroying the containers inside. It seemed like that should have bothered it, but the juggernaut didn't care now.

Still, encountering the case _had_ brought back a vague memory. It liked the sound of "G," whatever that was, and decided that would be its name from now on. And there was something, or rather, some_one_ it needed to contact. The juggernaut could remember a sound it had used to talk to her. Maybe she was somewhere nearby by…

"SHERRY!"


	5. Headaches

Chapter 4: Headaches

(JILL)

In Israel they called them "End of the World" parties. Essentially, the idea was to get so ridiculously smashed you wouldn't remember (or if you did, wouldn't _care_) the world was going to Hell in hand basket.

Jill wasn't sure where the rest of the world planned to spend eternity, but at the moment she wished her head would just go take a hike, if not to Hell, then at least to parts unknown. The blood pounding in her temples felt like a marching band made up of cavemen, who were incapable of actually following the beat, but liked the sound banging their drums made.

She climbed out of bed, feeling nasty. She'd slept in her clubbing clothes, a blue tube top and a darker colored skirt; she hadn't even taken off the dark brown boots she'd worn the night before. Apparently, she'd come right home and passed out. A part of her was surprised she didn't wake up next to someone, or that she'd woken up in her own place and not someone else's. As drunk as she'd been…

She remembered introducing her knee to one poor guy's…intimate place. She'd recognized him; he was a cop, Ryan or Ryman or some such thing. He'd apparently recognized her too, and while he had at least as much booze on board as her, it was with the practiced air of someone who did it often enough. But either he hadn't, or he thought she was drunk enough not to care, and he decided to go exploring with his hands, and then she was introducing him to her knee, and…She didn't remember much of last night, but that part stuck out.

She made her way to the small kitchen/dining room of her apartment. The small TV on the counter was still going; she'd turned it on at some point in the past week, and hadn't touched it since. The past week was such a blur to her; she wouldn't have been surprised if it'd been on the entire time.

She came in midway through a news broadcast. "-series of riots across the city. At the moment, causes seem to be unknown, and rioters range across all age, income, and ethnic categories. More on this as it comes in, but we are being instructed to advice viewers to avoid the St. Michael's and Raven's Gate districts, as there are reports of significant police presence in those areas. All residences in those districts are requested to remain indoors and off the streets." The newscaster, a man in his mid-fifties built like a brick and trying his hardest to look younger, shuffled his notes. "In a related story, it appears one citizen took the law into his own hands. A member of the Raccoon City Police Department, discharged after the disastrous manhunt in the Arklay forest in July, has apparently shot and killed two rioters."

_Oh, not good_ thought Jill glumly, her hung-over mind trying to pick up speed.

The newscaster beat her to it. "Nineteen-year-old Mathias Dawson, a suspended member of the Raccoon City Special Weapons and Tactics branch, was arrested this morning after witnesses claim he shot and killed a pair of homeless people in an alley near his apartment in St. Michael's. The RPD has made no comments on the arrest, although sources inside the police are already speculating as to the suspended officer's mental state."

"Oh shit" Jill muttered, then, not feeling as if that summed things up aptly enough, elaborated "Shit, shit, _shit_."

_What went wrong? _she wondered. Mat had always seemed so…confident. Why would he snap now?

_Unless it was a setup_ Jill realized. Maybe Umbrella was trying to discredit the survivors. If so, they were certainly doing a good job.

Still, Jill's bender the night before was staking its toll now. She dry-swallowed a couple of aspirins, then flopped down on the couch, resolving to change her clothes when she woke up. She was asleep almost immediately, and didn't dream.

(YOKO)

"Why don't you just tell us what happened, Ms.-"

"_Soozooki_" Yoko supplied.

"_Sazooki_" the officer repeated, not realizing he was mispronouncing her name. Yoko was used to it; most people didn't realize the "u" in "su" made the same sound in "zu." The only people who correctly pronounced her name were her own parents, and a few close friends.

Yoko explained about her encounter in the alleyway with the menacing homeless man, followed by running into Officer Dawson, and concluding with his shooting of two people.

It was hard to keep her story straight. They kept interrupting her, and there was this strange…ringing noise in the back of her mind; faint, but ever present. She didn't remember the sensation, yet it somehow seemed so…_familiar_.

There were two cops interviewing her. One was the officer who'd arrested Dawson; Yoko thought his name was Brown. The other taller and older, had a thick Southern accent, and wore dark colored riot gear. He was a lieutenant; Yoko hadn't caught his name.

"So, he just…started shooting?" the lieutenant asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.

Yoko nodded. "Yes. He just…" she shivered, remembering the gunshots in the confined space. "He seemed scared, and then he just…pulled the trigger."

"I _told_ you, Chase" said Brown, looking at the lieutenant irritably. "I told you Dawson had lost it."

The lieutenant, Chase (Yoko wasn't sure if that was a first or last name) shook his head sadly. "I guess so. I just never thought one of my men would…" He looked over at Yoko. "You said the two victims were…moving threateningly toward you?"

Yoko nodded. "Yes. But _still_. I don't think they needed to be shot. They almost seemed…" Her voice trailed off.

"Yes?" asked Chase, sounding hopeful. "Go on."

"They almost seemed…sick. And Dawson seemed to know what was going on." She shook her head. "He just seemed so…scared. Terrified, even more so than I was, and _he_ had the gun."

"Well, Ms. _Sa_zuki, I think that'll be all" said Brown, standing up and ushering her toward the door. "We'll call if we have any more questions."

Yoko made her way, alone, down the rather bleak halls of the RPD's main precinct. She'd read somewhere that it had once been an art museum; whoever had made the switch had apparently decided to make it feel as dark and foreboding as possible. She shivered. _I just want to go home_ she thought to herself.

She looked down at her wrist. It was about half-past one in the afternoon. She'd definitely not be going to class today. She figured she probably had enough time to grab a bite to eat, though. Then she'd go back to her dorm and-

The ever present buzzing at the back of her head suddenly increased in volume when she entered the lobby. The ringing made her eyes unfocus for a moment and she felt dizzy, unsure of where she was.

She could hear a faint moaning to her right, from a group of prisoners waiting to be processed. She managed a glance in their direction, but Dawson wasn't among them. These people all seemed sick…and wrong.

A sudden, irresistible urge seized Yoko. She had no idea where it came from, but she knew she had no choice. Without a backwards glance, she fled the RPD building, dashing into the streets outside.


	6. Freedom Gained and Freedom Lost

Chapter 5: Freedom Gained and Freedom Lost

(JIM)

Jim Chapman hated his job with his usual passion. He spent good portions of his time telling everyone he came into contact with. Many of his coworkers wondered why he wasn't getting fired. More than a few of the more malicious ones suggested he was only kept on to satisfy some affirmative action quota.

The truth, though, was that as much as he hated it, Jim was _good_ at what he did. As master for the 3rd Street/St. Michael's station, he had one of the most important posts in the city's entire public transit grid. He kept the trains running on time, and there had never been an accident during one of his shifts. The transit authority knew he was volatile and temperamental, and used a number of carrots and sticks to keep him employed and, if not _happy_, then at least managed to keep him from walking out one day.

Jim left just as soon as he conceivably could. The idea of working _overtime_ was just not something he'd ever even consider, nor was the thought of talking to any of his coworkers or the passengers. The sooner he got out of the station, the better.

He didn't even keep his street clothes in his locker at the station. That would mean spending more time than absolutely necessary in the workplace, and Jim couldn't stomach that. Besides, he lived pretty close to work, and he didn't mind walking around in his uniform if it meant he'd get home earlier.

But he wasn't going home right away. It was Thursday night, and that meant…heading to Jack's. The quiet, out of the way bar was his favorite haunt after work. He could sit down at a side table, put his feet up, and work his way through well-thumbed crossword puzzle he kept stuffed into his back pocket, next to an always sharp Dixon-Ticonderoga #2 pencil and a small Pink Pearl eraser. Jim had never been the social type, certainly not with the rather prudish citizenry of Raccoon City (although Jim probably could've found an earthier way to describe them). He lived in his own head, and never got tired of the company.

The city streets were cold today. He shivered slightly, rubbing his arms and wishing his light jacket had a thicker lining. It wasn't usually this frigid after work; he resolved to bring a sweater in tomorrow. Then at least he wouldn't be so frigging cold.

(MARK)

Mark Wilkins was also ready to take it easy. He'd put in a ten hour patrol, and now he just wanted to grab some dinner, go home, and sleep for a year. He wouldn't get the last bit, and the second part was a ways off, but as for dinner.

Jack's was just ahead, the big windows shinning warm and inviting light. The place didn't look too busy, but that was probably just because it was Thursday. The only other customer he could see was the quiet plumber who got off work around the same time Mark did. He'd maybe said two words to the dark-haired loner; even his employment was a matter for speculation, although once Mark had caught a strong whiff of…human waste when he sat at a table nearby.

Jack's was understaffed today: just Will, the barkeeper, and Cindy, the pretty blonde waitress. Mark was happily married, and had been for almost three decades, but that didn't ever stop him from noticing; it just kept him from ever wanting to do more than look.

He looked back over his shoulder. "You still with us, Bob?"

Bob Warner, his partner at the security firm for the past fifteen years nodded. "Yeah, I'm still with ya. You don't have to go back for me yet."  
>Mark smiled. "You know I would, too, you crazy old man. Now c'mon, let's get inside.<p>

Together, the two old soldiers made their way inside.

(MAT)

He'd never spent time in the RPD's jail. It was a fact he wasn't especially proud of, but also something he'd never expected to arise. He was SWAT, elite, not a patrol officer. There was never a reason for him to be down here.

But even if he _had_ known he'd end up in the precinct's basement, Mat had never expected to be on the wrong side of the bars.

"Now stay here, and be a good boy" said the officer marching him along. "I hope your accommodations suit you, sergeant." He didn't wait for a response, but shoved Mat inside and slammed the cell door closed behind him. "Maybe tomorrow we'll sort out a better place for the likes of you. For now, though, enjoy your stay."

Mat slammed his fist into the wall. "Shit!" he exclaimed, sinking to the floor. He needed to be out on the streets, warning his comrades what was going on. He didn't know what had happened himself (it was too crazy to believe Umbrella would willingly release the T-virus in their own backyard); but he knew how to handle the situation. How many people were needlessly dying just because no one knew what to do?

"Who are you?" a familiar voice asked from behind him. Mat spun around, squinting into the darkness. He could just make out a bulky figure, sitting on a cold metal bench.

"Ben?" he asked, momentarily confused. "But, aren't you supposed to be at Jack's right now?" The note he'd received with the journal the Umbrella scientist had taken had told him to meet a reporter at the bar in St. Michael's.

Ben Bertolucci shook his head, his greasy ponytail remaining ramrod straight. "Nope. I mean, I was, but then the RPD showed up and dragged me out of the office. Said they'd received a tip-off about certain pictures of small children I had on disks at my house." He spat the words out disgustedly, as if the very _idea_ revolted him. It revolted Mat, but he didn't interrupt.

"They weren't yours, of course?"

Ben gave him a hurt look. "What kind of person do you think I am? Of _course_ they weren't mine! They must've been planted; I just don't know why. I mean, I'm a nobody outside Raccoon City. Who'd go to all that trouble?"

"Umbrella" Mat replied. "They must've learned about the diary, and wanted to remove you from play. They didn't know I had it, though; it was my misfortune that I ended up here."  
>"What happened?" Ben asked.<p>

Mat sighed. "What happened is I got thrown in here for trying to do the right thing." He went on to recount his encounter with the young woman and the two zombies.

"Jeez" Ben muttered. "So, this is it?"

"Yeah. The virus is loose in the city, and I'm one of only three people still here who knows what to do about it. And I'm stuck down here in the fucking jail." He paused. "What did you do with the digital copy? The note I got said you'd received one earlier. They didn't get it, did they?"

Ben shook his head. "No, but now that I think about it, I suspect they must've known to look for it. They confiscated all my disks, both from my office and at home. But I'd already made a backup, destroyed the original, and given the copy to the only person at the _Raccoon Press_ I trust."

"All that, and you didn't even know they were onto you?"

Ben shrugged. "I was beginning to suspect when the same black car was parked outside my house for the past three days. And I'm a reporter. Even in a flyspeck like Raccoon City, I still do everything I can to protect my sources."

Mat nodded. "Well, if we can get out of here, we need to find your friend. He's got the only copy of the document. An Umbrella scientist visited me upstairs earlier and took the original."

Ben stiffened. "Was he about my age, blonde, tall and skinny?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah. Cold fish. Kinda…condescending, too. Why? Who is he?"  
>"His name is William Birkin. He's a higher-up within the Umbrella hierarchy. He's got a lot of clout, and he's tight with the police chief. He's probably the reason I'm here. Hell, Irons probably called him up when he saw what you had with you."<br>"You think Irons is dirty?"

Ben didn't answer; he just nodded slowly.

"Great. So, now what?"

Ben sighed. "We do the only thing we can, and hope the American justice system gets us out of here before it's too late."

Mat sat down on the small bunk, a few feet from Ben. "Who's your contact?"

"You mean it wasn't you? I assumed it was." Ben shook his head. "Well, it must've been one of your other STARS friends. Are any of them still in the city?"

Mat sighed. "I honestly don't know. I haven't talked to any of them so long. This whole thing is all screwy." He paused. "Who did you give the backup to?"

"Privileged" Ben replied. "If you know, then someone can force it out of you, and then her life is in danger."

"Her?"

Mat couldn't tell, but he suspected Ben made a face. "Shit. Look, don't ask anymore questions. If I don't tell you, then if they ask, you don't have to lie. Okay?"

Mat nodded. "Fair enough. Let's just hope we can get out of here soon. I've got a really bad feeling about this."

(ALYSSA)

Normally, Alyssa Ashcroft would never have been caught dead in a dive like Jack's bar. As it was, she'd left the Buick Century at the office, instead taking the train, rather than running the risk of her car getting broken into. She'd also stuffed the small stun gun into her pocket, just in case.

She sat down near the window, ordered a beer, and opened her tough book. If she was going to be stuck in this shit hole, then at least she'd get something done.


	7. Out of the Darkness

Chapter 6: Out of the Darkness

(LJ)

Lloyd Jefferson Wayne could think of several things he'd rather be doing than standing in the middle of downtown at eight o'clock at night in full riot gear, waiting to storm an empty shopping mall.

Life had a way of not doing what he wanted it to.

The Arklay Center, Raccoon City's downtown commercial center, was a sprawling facility with five stories. Ordinarily, it would still be a bustling shopping center, it was now eerily quiet, the street lights sizzling and echoing loudly across the sparse parking lot.

Lieutenant Chase Mathison loaded a magazine into his M14 battle rifle, pulling the bolt back, before turning to look at his team. LJ looked back, keenly aware that they were missing someone.

"I won't bullshit you" Chase said, his southern drawl thick. "We're getting the short end of the stick on this one. With Mat gone, you and me are separating. You'll go in with Bravo squad, while I'll be with Alpha for backup. You've done this before; just never with these guys. Good luck, and God Speed." Without waiting, LJ's officer turned and jogged back to the command vehicle, were Captain Welles and a pair of other Lieutenants were closely studying a map of the mall.

The only remaining member of Charlie Squad chopped the charging lever on his MP5, chambering a round. Then he made his way over to where Bravo was staging.

He breached with them about two minutes later, the entire line of riot gear clad men moving through the mall's revolving doors. As one they activated their rail-mounted flashlights, piercing the darkness with their admittedly small beams.

"Shit" muttered Michael Guthrie, looking down at a dark stain on the tile. He knelt down and examined it, slinging Mat Dawson's officially confiscated P90 across his back. "Blood" he said, running his fingers through the substance. "And it's still wet."

"Okay, let's fan out" said the Bravo Lieutenant, John Foster. "Keep radio contact, and be ready for anything. Something is very, very wrong here."

The SWAT officers spilt up, fanning out in different directions. LJ made his way down a wide-open hallway, flashing his SMG in all directions, making sure nothing was lurking in the shadows.

He made his way to Ward's, one of the anchor stores at the edge of the mall. It had a huge, wide-open front, with several mannequins near the entrance. But one had been knocked over, and there was a distinct smell coming from inside.

LJ keyed his radio. "Command, this is Wayne. I'm at Ward's, and I smell…putrefaction. I'm investigating, over."

Chase's voice came back a second later. "Solid copy. Just be smart, and call for backup if you need it. Out."

LJ made his way into the darkened store, the skin on his arms prickling. He wished he had eyes in the back of his head, so he could see in all directions. It felt like something was watching him…

Something fell with a crash behind and to his right. He swung the MP5 around. "RPD! Who's there?"

There was no answer, and LJ was beginning to think it had been a bad idea to enter the store alone. He'd head back to the lobby, call for backup, and-

There was a moan from somewhere up ahead. LJ consulted his memory for a moment, and recalled that the loading dock was back in that direction. And someone was back there. Someone hurt.

"Ah, hell" he muttered, making his way toward the noise.

There were a pair of big, plastic swinging doors in the back. They had opaque windows, which reflected LJ's flashlight beam back into his eyes when he tried to see through them. He swore and lowered the weapon…illuminating the smeared, bloody handprint in the middle.

"Shit" he muttered again, shouldering the door open.

"Hello?" he called out, swinging the weapon in all directions. There were a lot of shelves back here, and they dramatically cut down vision. Maybe calling for backup wasn't such a bad-

The moan was much closer. Shaking off the feeling of sudden foreboding, LJ made his way toward it.

There was someone crouched on the floor. A blonde girl, maybe fifteen. She was soaked in blood, and she was hunched over something. There was a wet smacking noise.

Her hair had picked up the residual light in the room. Now LJ swung his SMG toward her. "Miss, are you okay?"

Two things happened simultaneously.

First, the girl turned toward him, hissing slightly and opening her bloody jaws, her eyes reflecting oddly in the light.

Second, LJ saw what she was hunched over.

"Shit!" he exclaimed as the girl stood up from the viciously torn and bloodied body, stepping toward him. "On your knees!" he barked, clicking off the MP5's safety. "Goddammit, I'm not screwing around. Get on your knees!"

The girl ignored him, taking another step forward. LJ, caught up in a panic, and fueled by adrenaline, fired once, a single 9mm round into her knee. The girl fell to the ground…then, horribly, began to slide toward him, groping blindly like a fish out of water, her leg wound painting the metal floor red.

"Jesus" LJ muttered. He needed to get out of here, and fuck the mission. He turned to go…only to find someone else standing in his way. A man, older, heavyset, wearing a security guard's uniform that was so badly blood-stained he could barely make out its original color.

LJ didn't hesitate. He opened fire, putting five rounds into the man's gut and causing him to stagger back. He became dimly aware of similar reports from back the way he'd come, other SMGs opening fire. He didn't care; he just wanted to get out, just wanted to get away and-

"Motherfuck!" he exclaimed, looking down to see the girl he'd shot in the knee earlier had crawled forward and was currently tearing a chunk of meat out of his thigh with only her teeth.

He tried to awkwardly kick at her, only to feel someone else grab him: the bloody body the girl had been munching on earlier. He felt himself pulled back to the floor, as the girl continued to bite his leg. Her not-so-dead victim bit down on his shoulder, tearing free a huge chunk of flesh, and LJ screamed in pain.

LJ squeezed the trigger on the MP5, hosing his assailant with 9mm weapons fire. The man ignored it, content with his feast. He felt another wait on him, and managed to see the security guard had joined the feast. LJ drew his handgun, a Browning HP, and opened fire, round after round into his assailants.

It made no difference.

Had LJ not been screaming, he would've noticed that the sounds of weapons fire from the other SWAT members had already subsided. But he already had other, more pressing concerns.

Not for long, though. The bloody man tore out his throat, and LJ gurgled on his own internal fluids, his blood filling his lungs. With a last, wet gasp, he was still.

That didn't last long, either.

(CHASE)

Chase Mathison had his M14 at his shoulder, aimed down just slightly as he and the rest of SWAT Alpha squad entered the mall. The first thing he noticed was the distinct…off-ness of the building; a certain animal sixth sense that something was very, _very_ wrong inside the Arklay Center.

Michael Guthrie walked just a few feet ahead of him. The man was the only member of Bravo squad to come back out of the mall, and he was leading the new officers back inside.

"What happened?" Chase had demanded when Guthrie came back outside, after he'd been trying to call LJ for fifteen minutes.

"I heard gunfire, so I came back outside" he replied, gesturing vaguely with Mat's P90. Chase made a face at that. It pissed him off to no end that Irons had given one of _his_ men's weapons to someone else.

"You didn't go see what was going on?"

Guthrie made a face. "I did what I thought was best. I figured it might be a good idea to go get reinforcements, so…"

Chase had rolled his eyes, then gestured to Alpha squad. "C'mon" he said irritably. "Let's go find our guys."

The SWAT troopers moved into the mall, weapons trained out, rail mounted flashlights turned on. "Let's check the Ward's first" said Chase. "I know one of my men is down that way."

They headed in that direction, ready for anything. Chase thought he heard something moving around behind them, and flipped on the night vision mode of his battle rifle's scope, but didn't see anything in the suddenly green-tinted world.

"LJ, you there?" Chase whispered tensely into the radio. "LJ, do you copy?"

There was no answer, but he could hear the faint echo of the radio from farther inside the store. "That way" he said, moving the other SWAT officers forward.

They entered a pair of bloody swinging, saloon-style doors…and suddenly their boots were in something wet and thick. "What the hell?" demanded an officer, training his flashlight down, where it reflected on the dark red substance coating the floor. "Motherfuck!"

"That's a lot of blood" said Delmonte, Alpha's medic, shaking his head. "No way anyone could've survived this."

Chase nodded. "I know" he looked around, shinning his flashlight. "There's a lot of brass on the floor, too. But…where's the body?" He turned to look over at Delmonte, who shrugged.

Then the shelf behind him collapsed, and chaos ensued.


	8. Outbreak

Chapter 7: Outbreak

(KEVIN)

Kevin Ryman sat at the corner of the bar at Jack's, slowly making his way through the one beer he allowed himself on weeknights. He was beginning to think he would break his rule, though. He'd had a hell of a day, and had a feeling he'd need the fortification if he was going to get any sleep tonight.

Apparently spontaneous riots had plagued Raccoon City all day. The Select Police Force, the RPD's new rapid-response team, had been called in at the worst hot-spot, an old tenement building in St. Michael's. Kevin had been forced to bust open an old man's head with a nightstick; he'd bit down on a paramedic and torn up the man's bicep, and had been unwilling to let go.

Rumor at the station said one of the cops who'd been suspended back in July, Dawson, had lived in the building and capped a pair of rioters with an unregistered handgun. Supposedly, he was spending the night in jail, held for manslaughter. It seemed like a lot of BS to Kevin, but no one had asked his opinion.

"As usual" he muttered.

If anyone _had_ cared about Kevin Ryman's opinion, then either of the two applications he'd submitted to the Special Tactics and Rescue Team would've been accepted. Even after the disbandment and suspension of the STARS teams, Kevin still carried an application form in his vest, more out of habit than anything. He was still pissed he hadn't gotten his chance to prove his worth. The fact that he probably would've died along with most of the STARS back in July didn't occur to him. Kevin was still under the impression he was immortal.

For a Thursday, Jack's was actually pretty busy. Down at the other end of the bar were the two rent-a-cops who usually came in for a drink after work, just like Kevin. Today, they were eating, though, which stuck out to his bored mind. There was also the mildly annoying subway stationmaster, sitting at a table a few feet away from him, head down, engrossed in a puzzle book of some sort. Rounding out the group of regulars was the orange-wearing handyman. He usually kept to himself, and looked like he might've been an ex-con, or if not, then at least he might've deserved to be.

Cindy and Will were on staff tonight. Kevin had been around long enough to get on with both of them; he'd even made a pass at Cindy once, when back before he'd put his one drink max into place. She'd turned him down, actually pretty kindly, but he'd embarrassed himself enough to not want a second helping.

There were some unfamiliar faces, though. In front of the window sat a blonde woman in a reddish business suit, furiously typing away on a laptop. Kevin had never seen her before, but she was good looking, and he found his eyes kept drifting in her direction.

Across from her, in a corner by the front door, was a broad shouldered man in business attire, head down, as if he didn't want to be recognized, or didn't want anyone to notice him. There were two empty bottles at his table, and he was well on his way through a third. Kevin hoped for the other man's sake that he didn't have anything pressing to do the next day; he didn't look like a regular drinker, and he was really going to feel it in the morning.

A third stranger, a young Asian woman who didn't look like she was quite of age, had wandered in a few minutes ago. She'd looked a little distracted, and had made her way to the women's room as if in a daze. She hadn't come out since.

The TV hanging from the wall opposite the man by the door was tuned to the local ABC affiliate. It was about five minutes in to the local new broadcast; the anchor was saying something about a disturbance at the Sharks game earlier. He didn't say anything about the riots; it was like he thought, by not mentioning them, he and the rest of the city could pretend they hadn't happened.

Kevin wished he could. He knew he'd never forget the feel of the old man's skull as his nightstick caved it in…

Cindy screamed, and Kevin (along with almost everyone else in the bar) jerked in her direction.

She'd jumped back about a foot, dropping two empty bottles from the tray she'd been carrying. These proved to be made of robust glass, as they didn't shatter, although the rat that had caused her outburst knocked one skittering away as it darted across the hardwood floor.

Kevin made a face. Jack's was a pretty clean looking place. It disgusted him that there were vermin inside.

Cindy made a face of her own. Kevin thought it was a cute one, but experience discouraged him from saying so. "Sorry" she said, smiling sheepishly at the startled customers. "It just…startled me."

Kevin saw the blonde woman roll her eyes and return to her laptop. The other stranger, the man, looked up briefly from the table, then dropped his eyes back down. If he wasn't drunk, Kevin had never seen someone who was. As for the Asian woman, she was still in the bathroom.

As for the regulars…

They all seemed a little startled, but went back to what they were doing. All, that is, except the older, white security guard. Kevin thought his name was Bob. Whatever it was, his head was down on the bar, slumped over, as if he'd decided to take a nap.

The other rent-a-cop, the big, black one who had ex-military written all over his massive frame, reached over and shook his shoulder. "Bob?" he asked, trying to get his buddy's attention. "Hey Bob, you with us?"

Bob didn't answer. Instead, he apparently decided he had an urgent appointment…with the floor. Without a sound, he slid off his barstool and fell hard to the wooden panels.

"Shit!" exclaimed the other guard, jumping up. "He's unconscious! Somebody help me get him up."

Will made his way around the bar, drying his hands off on his apron. From his table in the corner, the drunken man began to make his ponderous way forward as well. Kevin sat down his beer and stood up, ready to step in if necessary, although he doubted there'd be anything for him to do.

His concentration was focused on the unconscious guard, but he dimly heard the front door open…

(YOKO)

The strange sense of danger had plagued her all afternoon. Yoko had been restless; she'd returned home, but found she couldn't stay in any one place for too long. She needed to be out and moving.

She'd been wondering town for the past few hours, and she was surprised by the number of police on the streets. It looked like they were expecting trouble, but business seemed to be going on as usual. Still, she'd avoided alleys. After her last experience, she wasn't willing to tempt fate.

She'd finally found her way to the bar as it was getting dark. It suddenly seemed a good idea to be inside, with other people. She was about a year too young to buy a drink, but it seemed very important to get off the darkening streets.

She didn't say anything to the other customers; just made her way toward the back, were a big black-painted swinging door with a triangular stick-figure stood. Inside the women's room, she made her way to the sink, were she pulled out a pair of scissors. It seemed important she alter her appearance. Now, of only this blasted buzzing noise in her head would stop…

She heard a faint scream and a clatter from outside, followed by another muffled thud and more shouting. She didn't stop cutting her hair, though. Somehow, what was going on in the bar didn't seem very important.

At last she ran her fingers through her now shorter, dark hair. It was bobbed now, and she had to admit she liked the way it looked. She turned the taps on, running the hair down the drain with a gurgle. She stood there a moment longer, watching it circle and vanish into the darkness, when a sudden pounding in her skull made her gasp and clutch the sink for support. It was like the buzzing in her head had suddenly intensified a hundredfold.

Yoko staggered back from the sink, her hair clogging the drain and causing it to back up, slowly filling the basin. She leaned against the wall, clutching her temples with both hands. Images flashed in her mind: people, like the homeless who'd attacked her in the alley; people who had something very wrong with them. A man, the same blonde one who'd somehow hurt her, talking. She only remembered one word: "Tyrant."

And again the overriding urge to flee took hold, but Yoko was too dizzy to move.

Then the grate at her feet was thrown free, and something with pale, sickly colored skin reached for her legs. Yoko took a step back, and screamed.

(GEORGE)

George was drunk, and knew it. Tomorrow, he'd be too hung over to have any business (or desire) to go the hospital, and he'd probably call in sick. He figured he was entitled to a little binge drinking, though. After all, his wife of the past five years had out-of-the-blue (or so it seemed to him) decided to leave him…after taking the house, the car, and the stupid _dog_, plus $1100 a month in alimony.

Now, though, he had an external problem to focus on: the old security guard who'd decided to take a nap on the floor.

"Stand aside" he managed, his voice much more firm than his footing. "I'm a…" _What am I? _"Doctor!" he exclaimed, a word which both finished his sentence and answered his question.

The other guard, the big, tough looking one, looked him over uncertainly. "You're drunk" he said; not a condemnation, just a statement of fact.

"Yes" George nodded, not getting offended. He didn't drink often, and knew a part of him should be embarrassed by this, but he was too out of it to care. "That's right. I won't be doing any surgery on your friend here. I know better than that. Just let me take a look at him."

The big man sighed. "Okay. Just…don't do anything stupid."

George nodded. "Of course. Now…who are you, and who's your friend?"

The big man tapped his chest. "I'm Mark, and this is Bob."

"Has…Bob ever done this before?"

Mark shook his head. "No. I dunno what happened. He just went down, alluva sudden."

George nodded, then bent down beside the other guard, resting a hand on his forehead. "He's got a fever. Was he sick today? Did he complain about any aches? Pains?"

Mark grunted. "Doc, we're both getting old. Isn't a day goes by when one of us isn't feeling _something_."

"Anything new he mentioned today?"

Mark shook his head. "No. Why?"

George tried to stand back up, staggered, and was partially helped to his feet by the guard. "Thanks" he said. "Now, I believe this man is suffering from some sort of infection. Probably the flu. It's getting to be that time of year. Tomorrow, I'd suggest you help him go see a doctor. I work at St. Michael's; I could probably get you an appointment pretty fast, if you tell the receptionist my name."

Mark nodded. "Thanks, Doc. And, what _is_ your name?"

"George" he replied. "George Hamilton."

"Well, thanks Doc" said Mark, sounding appreciative. "What do we do with him in the meantime?"

George thought for a moment. He was finding that his mind wasn't moving as fast as it ought to have, probably because it was weighed down by more beer than he'd ever drank at once. "Well, we should get him up, and then…"

The sound of the door slamming made him and Mark both look up.  
>Standing, swaying faintly in the doorway was a filthy young man with greasy dark hair. His head was down, and his fingers flexed slightly. A thin stream of drool hung from his mouth, slowly dripping on the floor.<p>

"What a weird customer" commented the bartender, stepping forward. "Hello?" he asked, stretching out his hand. "Sir, are you okay?"

The man moaned faintly, then seemed to shrug. His head slowly tilted up, and…

"My God!" exclaimed George, when he got a look at the young man's face. It was hideous, all brown and decayed; his eyes a sightless white, his mouth open and slack. A torn piece of skin hung loosely over one check, causing his entire face to droop.

"Ah!" exclaimed the bartender, taking a step back, starting to withdraw his hand.

With a growl, the young man reached out and grabbed the bartender's arm, biting down on it messily and withdrawing a piece of bloody flesh. The bartender screamed in pain, raising his apron to staunch the flow of blood, staggering back.

"Will!" screamed the blonde waitress, dropping her tray.

"Shit!" exclaimed the cop who'd been sitting at the back of the bar. He ran forward, trying to push the crazed young man out the door. The young man tried to bite him, but the cop caught his shoulder. "_No_" he said, his tone as if he was talking to a naughty child, as he kicked the man out the door.

He tried to step back in a second later, but the cop had slammed the door in his face. The young man began to throw his weight against the door, smashing it open a few inches and causing the cop to put his shoulder against it, straining as he tried to keep it closed.

"Mind giving me a hand?" he demanded.

The quiet man in the orange jumpsuit was next to him a moment later, adding his strength to the effort. With one hand he deftly flicked the lock. "Problem. Solved" he said simply, his voice deep and gravely. He turned to the cop. "What was so hard about that?"

"Thanks" replied the cop sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

George stepped toward the bleeding bartender. The waitress was kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

He nodded, his teeth gritted, trying and failing to be brave. "That doesn't feel amazing, know what I mean?"

"Excuse me, Miss" said George, dropping down beside her. "Let me get a look at that arm."

The bartender, Will, held it up for George to examine. Right away, he could tell it was bad. A lot of skin was missing, and it looked like a vein had been opened; at least, there was a lot of blood.

"You're going to be okay" he told the younger man, trying sound reassuring and not sure if he succeeded. "But, we need to get you to a-"

There was a scream from the bathroom, and all three of them looked up to see the young Asian woman frantically backpedaling her way out. "Help!" she exclaimed, pointing wildly. "There's-there's…something _in there_!"

The cop started in that direction, only for something to slam against the window and draw everyone's attention in that direction.

"Agh!" exclaimed the woman in the business suit, upsetting her table as she quickly stood up. She frantically stepped back from the window suddenly full of people pressed up against the glass, rubbing their palms, faces, and bodies up against it as if unsure why they weren't inside yet.

"Cindy, how thick is that glass?" the cop asked the waitress.

"Bulletproof" she replied absently, still worried about Will. "Jack's kinda paranoid…"

"That door ain't" said Mark, pointing to the rattling entrance. "And it ain't gonna hold them outside for long."

"They're already here!" exclaimed the young Asian woman, pointing frantically at the women's room. "They're inside."

The cop looked down at her in confusion. "What're you-Whoa!" he exclaimed, as a drunk looking man suddenly staggered out of the bathroom. The cop laughed briefly. "Buddy, I don't think you belong in there. And you look like you've had a little too mu-Shit!"

Without warning, the man lunged at him…only to receive a boot to the gut. "Back off!" the cop shouted, kicking the man back through the door. He grabbed the young woman's shoulder and pulling her away. He looked over at Mark. "We gotta go. This is getting…intense."

"You fuckin' serious?" demanded the young man in the transit authority uniform. "No way I'm goin' out there with those things."

"We don't have to go out" replied the cop. "Just up." He turned to Cindy, the waitress. "Is the employee area unlocked?"  
>She nodded. "Yeah. Jack's out of town, so he just left the keys with me and Will. But there's no way out from up there…"<p>

"Then we'll have to cross the rooftops" the cop replied. "Don't worry, it'll work." He pointed to the splintering door. "In any case, we can't stay here."

Cindy nodded. "Okay." She looked down at Will. "Are you gonna be okay?"

He didn't answer. He just kept staring at the slowly breaking door. "He just…bit me." He looked over at George, confused. "Why would he do that?"

"Any other takers?" the cop asked.

The transit guy took a last look at the window. "Uh…I think I like your idea after all."

The cop smiled knowingly. "Figures. Anyone else?"

"I'm in" said the business woman. "I never wanted to be here anyway."

"Me too" said the quiet handyman.

The cop turned to the Asian woman. "What about you?" he asked, crouching beside her.

She had her foot stretched out, keeping the bathroom door closed. The man inside kept trying to force his way out, but wasn't having much luck.

The business woman stepped forward and helped her up, while the cop took her place, leaning against the door.

"Let's go" said the business woman, pulling the younger woman along. "It isn't safe here anymore."

The other woman nodded. "You're right." She looked over at George, Mark, Bob, Cindy, and Will. "We all have to leave. It's not safe."

"Hear that, Will?" Cindy asked, shaking the bartender's arm. "We _need_ to go."

Will shook his head. "Go on. I'll be fine. Just the dinner rush. It'll be okay…"

"He's delirious" George explained.

"Cindy," said the cop, "we gotta go. Are you coming?"

"I won't leave him here" replied the waitress.

"It'll be okay" said George, getting her attention. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on your friend. Why don't you go with-" He sent a questioning look toward the cop.

"Kevin Ryman."

"-Officer Ryman here? The best thing you can do for your friend is go get help."

Cindy nodded, slowly. "Okay." She looked at Will. "I'll come back for you. I promise."

"Can we _please_ _go_?" whined the transit guy.

Ryman nodded. "C'mon Cindy, let's book it. Will, hold on, buddy. We'll be back." He turned to Mark. "You got a weapon?"

The security guard nodded, pulling a black handgun out of a holster on his hip. "Beretta 92, with a backup mag. How 'bout you, officer?"

Ryman drew his own weapon. "Colt M1911. It was my brother's. He was in Vietnam."

"No shit?" Mark asked. "Me too. Where was-"

"Is now _really_ the time?" demanded the blonde business woman.

"Right" said the cop. "Let's go."

Quickly, those who had chosen to tromped up the stairs at the back of the bar. That left George, Will, Mark, and Bob alone on the ground floor.

"We should barricade that door" said George. "I don't know what's wrong with those people outside, but I have a feeling we don't want them in here."

Mark nodded. "You're right." He pointed toward a table. "They're heavy, but the two of us should be able to shift it."

They made their way toward it, only to have a groan from behind them make them spin around.

"Wha's going on?" Bob asked sleepily.

"Bob, you crazy bastard!" Mark exclaimed happily. "You had me worried. How are you?"  
>"My head hurts" he replied, his voice sounding distant. "And I feel all itchy."<p>

They didn't have long to ponder that. Suddenly, the bathroom door swung open, revealing the stranger who'd attacked the Asian woman. Only, now he wasn't alone: two others, a teenage boy and girl, both covered in blood, had joined him.

"Doc, get behind me!" Mark shouted, drawing his handgun. "All y'all, step back! Come any closer, and I'll fire!"

With a loud crash, the entrance door exploded, and several more people fell through. One slid toward Will, who stared at him dimly as the business men rose to his feet, then tackled the bartender to the ground and bit down on his shoulder.

"Fuck!" exclaimed Mark, shooting the man in the shoulder. It didn't slow down his feast, and two others fell on top of him, all intent on feeding. Mark kept firing, his bullets not slowing down the advance of people into the bar.

"Behind you!" shouted George, watching as the lead man from the bathroom reached for the guard.

"I warned you!" exclaimed Mark, firing point blank into the man's head. The man's body jerked back, crumpling to the floor. Mark turned to George. "We have to go. Help me get Bob."

George shook his head. "Not without the bartender. Watch my back, and I'll-"

"That's suicide, Doc. Those bastards are everywhere, and-"

"No arguments" George replied, looking for a weapon. He grabbed a barstool, hefted it in his hands for a moment, and liked the weight.

"Excuse me" he said to the businessmen hunched over Will. "I think you've had enough."

The man looked up in confusion, his mouth slick with blood. Then the stool connected with his head, and jerked it at an impossible angle. George knew he'd broken the stranger's neck, knew he'd probably just killed a man, and found he really didn't care. He swung the chair again and again, clearing a space around Will, then knelt down beside the bartender, feeling for a pulse…and finding none.

"He's gone" he said, shaking his head.

"We need to be, too!" shouted Mark, gesturing frantically with his free hand, while he tried to support Bob with his other. "Let's _go_, Doc!"

Reluctantly, George turned and followed the two security guards up the stairs, as the bar slowly filled with the crazed strangers. Out of the corner of his eye, he could've sworn he saw Will stand back up. He told himself that was impossible, that there'd been no pulse, that his mind was playing tricks on him, that he was drunk and couldn't trust his eyes.

Really, though, it was just because he was too scared to go back.


	9. Interlude I

Interlude I: The Two Phones

The mansion was shrouded in darkness, except in the man's study. He sat inside, alone, at his small, nondescript wooden desk. He'd spent many a sleepless night here, in this room, seated before this desk, and many more in other, less opulent residences, ever since They had approached him during his State senate bid, back in the early 80's. Without Their help, the young politician would never have upset the firmly entrenched incumbent senator, and he never would've been placed in this mansion, with this power.

Sometimes he wondered if the trade-off had been worth it. Ever since the incident in the Arklay Forest, he'd wondered even more.

Two phones sat on his desk.

One, a cheap, standard-issue government model, was his official line, and had carried over from his predecessor. Anyone from the Capitol, plus various reporters and constituents, used that line to speak to their elected executive. The first time it had rang, he'd felt a thrill run through his body. All his life he'd longed to serve, and now he was in the position to do the most good for his State.

The other phone was more advanced, more modern, and it (or one like it), had followed him all along his journey to Boulder. Even though he probably never could've gotten here without the people who'd provided this phone, he hated it, and all it represented.

He sighed in resignation when the unofficial line buzzed. Hands feeling leaden, he removed the receiver and held it to his ear.

"There's been another spill" said the harsh voice at the other end, without preamble.

"Where?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Where do you _think_?" the other voice demanded sarcastically. He'd made it abundantly clear the first time they'd met that They didn't need _him_ in particular; _he_ was disposable. Any other man (or woman) would be just as useful. As such, he didn't have to bother with respect when talking to the most powerful man in the State.

"What do you need?"

"Call up the National Guard. Blockade the City. _No one _must be allowed to leave until our experts have looked them over."

The man let out an explosive breath. "That bad, is it? What happened, exactly?"

The voice at the other end of the line chuckled. "Never you mind that. Just see that the Guard is in place. Also, you'll give our choppers special access to the City. We'll deploy forces inside, no questions asked."

"To what end?" the man asked, growing uneasy. _How am I supposed to do all this?_

"Why, to evacuate the civilians, of course" replied the other man, his voice thick with sarcasm once again. "You'll receive a phone call on your other line just as soon as I hang up. Make the necessary arrangements."

"How will you know?"

Pause. "We'll know." CLICK.

The man sat there, staring at the dead receiver for a moment. Then, just as the other man had said, the other phone on his desk began to ring.

Suddenly feeling eighty years old, he reached for the other receiver. "Governor Burkholder."

And so it began.


	10. Release

Part I: Containment

Chapter 8: Release

(MAT)

The occasional barks of weapons fire from up above told Mat things weren't going well in the city. Unable to do anything about it, though, he'd slowly drifted off to sleep.

There were two people standing outside the cell when Mat's eyes suddenly snapped open, and his first thought was that Umbrella had decided not to bother with a trial and was just going to kill him now.

"Relax" said a familiar voice, and as Mat's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he recognized the face of Chase Mathison, his squad leader.

"What's going on, sir?" he asked blearily, sitting up on the hard metal cot and stretching his back, which set of a series of rapid-fire pops down his spine.

"You're being released" said the other person, whose voice also seemed familiar…

"Captain Branagh?" Mat asked, suddenly wide awake. "What happened?"

"Chief Irons wants to see you" replied Chase, swinging the cell door open. "C'mon, let's not keep him waiting."

Mat stood up, and followed his two superiors upstairs, through the motor pool, and back into the warmer portion of the main building. As they got into the more well lit areas of the station, Mat noticed something about Chase.

"Sir, you're bleeding" he said. "What happened?"

"It isn't mine" Chase replied vaguely. "Things are…not going so well."  
>"Sorry Chase, but we don't have time for this" said Branagh. "Irons wants him <em>now<em>. We've gotta go."

They made their way upstairs, through the library, and along the long gallery over the RPD building's lobby. Mat noticed there were a lot more officers in the station than usual, many carrying large duffels full of weapons, and all moving with a grim purpose. There were also lots of civilians and medical personnel, scattered among the police and looking as if they were prepared for an extended stay. He also noted that several windows had been boarded up, and furniture was being moved toward various doors, where it would be easy to use them as makeshift barricades. It looked as though the police were preparing for a siege of the station, meaning Chase had, if anything, been using world class understatement when he said things weren't going as well as they could have.

Heather Waverly was sitting at her desk when the three cops entered Chief Irons' waiting room. "Go ahead" she said nervously, gesturing toward the door. "The Chief is waiting for you."

Chase and Branagh started for the door.

"Oh, sorry" Heather said, sounding embarrassed. "Just Mat. The Chief was very specific. You two are to wait here."

"Fine" said Branagh irritably; clearly he felt he had better things to do then sit and waste his time in the Chief's waiting room.

"Good luck, Mat" said Chase, patting his shoulder. "Irons'll work all this out. You'll see."

The hall leading to the Chief of the Raccoon City Police's office was paneled with dark wood, and had an air of general mustiness, as if it had once been some sort of storeroom. Mat pushed open the heavy wooden door, then started down a smaller hallway, past the stuffed Bengal tiger that stood there forever growling, like some sort of guardian.

Chief Irons was sitting slouched over in his chair, looking as if he'd aged thirty years since Mat had last seen him, a few months ago on the precinct's roof. "Close the door, Dawson" he said heavily, not looking up from his desk, were a Desert Eagle semi-automatic magnum lay.

Mat did as he was instructed.

"Come here, and sit down" said the Chief, his voice full of immeasurable sadness. Mat remembered what Ben had said about Irons being in Umbrella's pocket. The magnum sitting on his desk made him more than a little uncomfortable, but Mat knew Irons couldn't shoot him without Chase, Heather, and Captain Branagh hearing the report.

"What's going on, sir?" Mat asked, sitting down in one of the squat green chairs opposite Irons' large, dark paneled workspace.

"It's finished" Irons replied heavily, shaking his head and looking up at Mat for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot, and Mat realized the Chief of Police was drunk as a sailor.

"Sir-?"

Irons talked right over Mat, as if he hadn't spoken. "They've abandoned me. They've screwed up _yet again_, and this time they've burned the entire city." He shook his head. "Twelve years, Dawson. Twelve _years_ I've had this job, doing _exactly_ as I've been told, and now, as soon as they sniff the first scent of trouble, they leave me out to dry. That bastard at their lab isn't even answering my phone calls! Can you believe that? His monsters are tearing my city apart, and he doesn't even have the dignity to return a simple phone call." Irons pounded the desk with his fist. "He's probably already long gone, with his wife and daughter, while I have to try and pick up the pieces."

Mat was growing increasingly disturbed by this. Clearly Irons wasn't in his right mind, he was drunk, he had a high-caliber weapon sitting within easy arm's reach, and he'd just confessed to being on Umbrella's payroll for over a decade. Mat was trying to calculate if he could snatch the Desert Eagle before the police chief.

"What are you going to do?" he asked warily.

"We can't stop this infestation" Irons replied. "There just aren't enough of us to cleanse Raccoon City of this plague. I'm trying to bring as many civilians as possible into the building, where we'll be able to hold out until help arrives. I've also called up all off duty and suspended officers, including your friends in the STARS teams. I believe one of them is in the building as we speak."

Irons picked up the Deagle, and Mat tensed for a moment, before he realized the Chief was just shifting the magnum so he could unroll a map of the city. He tapped a spot with his finger. "Are you familiar with this location?"

Mat stood up and squinted at the map. "Sort of" he said. "It's an expensive private school over in Raven's Gate. Why?"

"Because you and the STARS officer are going to head there, retrieve a high value civilian, and return her and any other survivors to this station. These orders come directly from Mayor Warren. He wants me to send my best, and in this situation, with your experience, that's you two."

"Why us?" Mat asked. "Raven's Gate precinct is about four blocks away. Why not send them?"

"Raven's Gate has been hit hard by this. We don't have…reliable communication with them, and the last message we got said their building was totally surrounded. The last two relief forces have gone off the air, and I'm unwilling to send in more men. So, your orders stand: get to the school, collect any survivors, then make your way back to this spot here" Irons explained, tapping a spot on the map. "This is our forward command post. If we can't hold them here, then we'll have to fall back to the station. The tramways have been shut down; that should give you and your STARS friend any easy route back once you've completed your objective. Go back to the waiting room, and tell Captain Branagh I've authorized you to draw any weapons you need."

_Raven's Gate is gone? What about Roy? _Mat nodded. "Thank you, sir. Where's the STARS member?" He suspected it was Jill. She was the only other officer still in town who had any interest in fighting; Brad had split pretty fast, and he hadn't seen Rebecca since she'd given him her badge, over two weeks ago. _Becca, I hope you're okay_ he thought, worried about his friend.

"She's on the helipad. You'll meet up with her after getting suited up. I can't authorize you to wear your RPD uniform, you understand, and riot gear is proving less than effective in this emergency. Talk to Captain Branagh. He'll get you what you need."

A few minutes later, he was back where he'd started: downstairs, although this time it was in the RPD's armory…which looked pretty picked over.

"Irons wants all the weapons dispersed" explained David Ford, the RPD's armorer. "If the station is breached, then he wants individual pockets to be able to hold out on their own for as long as possible."

"I heard gunfire earlier. Have any of them gotten inside?"

Ford shook his head. "No. That was when we first realized what we were dealing with." He sighed. "Zombies. Who would've believed it?" He saw the look Mat gave him, and cleared his throat. "Since then, we don't let any bite victims go anywhere without a cop nearby, and we've started crushing the heads of every corpse in the morgue. There haven't been any breaches since then. The fighting's gotten pretty intense to the north, though. Where are you going?"

"Raven's Gate" Mat replied. "Up north."

Ford's face went pale. "Jesus. You're part of that crazy rescue mission, aren't you? That chick from STARS was down here earlier. I gave her some gear, but I figured she'd already left. Now, what can I do for ya?"

Mat had received the M1911 that had once belonged to Enrico Marini, along with Barry's back holster and two extra magazines, as well as Rain Ocampo's knife. He'd also been given his confiscated Browning HP, along with three standard mags and two new, seventeen round extended ones. "We just got issued these" Chase explained, handing them over. "Less than a week ago. They make things a helluva lot easier, let me tell you."

Mat's superior had explained why he wasn't going on the mission. "I'm needed on the roof" he said, patting the side of his M14 battle rifle. "There aren't many snipers left in the building, so the guys down on the ground need all the help they can get."

He'd also told Mat what had happened at the Arklay Center: how LJ and SWAT Bravo squad had been massacred…and how they'd resurrected and taken most of Alpha apart. "SWAT doesn't exist so much any more" Chase explained. "There's just a few of us left. Captain Welles has been sent to the front, with most of what's left. I'm just here because of my marksmanship."

Ford handed Mat a set of elbow and kneepads. "They work great for busting heads open" he explained. "Plus, if one grabs you from behind, you can elbow him in the face." He also gave Mat a tactical vest. "It's not much good, since these guys don't use guns, but it's great for carrying stuff."

"What about my P90?" Mat asked.

"That's still with Michael Guthrie" Ford replied. "He's at the forward command post. If you see him, and you ask politely, maybe he'll hand it over. Otherwise…"

Mat had to settle for a Benelli M1, similar to the one he'd lost in the Hive back in July. This had a full-size magazine, though, and he also received thirty-five shells.

"Shoty's the best for taking down multiple…things at once" Ford explained. "Just get a bunch together, aim at the right angle, and BLAM!"

Mat slung the shotgun across his back, into the special straps on the tactical vest. "Thanks" he said.

Ford just shrugged. "Buddy, don't thank me. You're going into the hornet's nest. I'm just making it more likely you'll survive…longer. See ya on the other side, Dawson."

Somewhat discomforted by the strange good-bye, Mat headed back upstairs. The station was eerily quiet, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"Good luck, Mat" said Heather when Mat passed through the waiting room, heading for the helipad. He noticed she had a small Beretta Cougar on her desk. "Just in case" she explained when she saw him looking at it.

"Thanks" Mat replied. "I hope it doesn't come to that." It seemed unreal to think that, just a few weeks ago, he'd been excited when she'd given him an assignment directly from Enrico Marini; orders to make contact with STARS for a joint operation.

The door outside squeaked loudly when Mat swung it open, the heavy metal forward. On the flat rooftop, the air was cold, the wind whistling over the RPD building, bringing with it sounds and smells he would rather not have experienced: fire, burning, putrefaction, and gunfire, screams, and hopeless moans. Somewhere in the warren of streets below, a dog howled.

Standing with her back to him, at the edge of the helipad, was another cop.

"Jill?" Mat called out. "You ready?"

The other cop turned around, and Mat saw that it wasn't Jill at all.

"Rebecca?" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"  
>"They called up everybody" she replied. "And somehow I knew…this is where I needed to be."<p>

"When Irons said another STARS was on the job, I never expected it was-"

"I know" Rebecca answered, sighing. "Mat, I'm sorry. I was…I was confused, and scared. We just barely made it out of the forest alive, and…I guess I didn't think I was ready to die for this cause. But…I can't just stand by and watch as Raccoon City tears itself apart. So, I'm here."

"Good" Mat replied. "I was worried about you." He dug in his pocket, then tossed her the STARS badge. "I think this belongs with you."

Rebecca clipped it to her jacket. "You hung onto it all this time?"  
>"Yeah. Somehow, I think I always knew you'd be back."<p>

"Thanks" she said, smiling. She unslung the MP-5 she had over her shoulder, chambering a round. "Are you ready?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah. Let's do it."

Together, the two survivors of July 23rd descended into the nightmare that had overtaken Raccoon City.


	11. Flight

Chapter 10: Flight

(CINDY)

Cindy Lennox watched as Kevin and the quiet handyman barricaded the upper floor, where Jack lived and where she and Will had their personal lockers.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked, for what she knew was at least the third time. "Will and those others might need to get back up here, and how will they-?"

"Jesus, just shut up" snapped the blonde woman in the suit, shaking her head in irritation. "They aren't coming back. Don't you get it?"

Kevin paused working long enough to give her a nasty look. Then he went back to nailing in the boards the handyman held up for him. "It's gonna be okay, Cindy. This is just a…precaution, is all."  
>Cindy nodded slowly, not really believing, but trying to convince herself she did. The sudden bark of gunfire from below caused them all to jerk in the direction of the stairwell.<p>

"They're inside!" wailed the transit authority worker. Cindy thought his name was Jim, although she didn't know him as well as the others.

"No shit" replied the blonde. Apparently, she had only one setting: sarcastic. _That's not fair_ Cindy reminded herself, remembering how the woman had helped the Asian girl upstairs. _She's just having a bad day, like the rest of us, and besides, we aren't supposed to judge others…_

Cindy made her way over to where the other girl was huddled in the corner, clutching her knees and shaking. "Are you okay?" the waitress asked, kneeling down beside her.

The other girl didn't answer; just kept staring down at the floor, as if she was looking _through_ it.

"I'm Cindy" she offered, trying a smile.

The girl didn't look over at her; just kept staring fixedly ahead and down. Cindy started to get up, only to hear her mumble something. "Yoko."

"Pleased to meet you, Yoko" Cindy said. She'd always liked meeting new people; she was one of those at church who always introduced herself to those she didn't recognize. "Do you live around here?"

Yoko nodded slowly.

"You from Raccoon City, or-"

"Student. Over at the college. I live on campus."

Cindy smiled. "I did for a while, too, but I never could get to sleep. What are you studying?"

"Computers."

"That's cool" Cindy said, trying to encourage the other girl. If she could keep talking, then maybe she'd relax a little. "I was studying medicine, but I ended up having to take a semester off to work." _And that semester became two, then three, then four, and finally you became a twenty-four year-old waitress at a dive in-_ Cindy stifled the bitter thoughts. She didn't dwell on what might've been. There was no point. What was done was done, and couldn't be undone.

There was a rapid pounding up the stairs outside, and again all heads, even Yoko's, turned in that direction.

"Shit!" exclaimed the big security guard, Mark, from the other side, after trying the door. "They've locked the door!"

"Is anyone there?" called the doctor, whose name Cindy hadn't caught. He'd seemed kind enough earlier, even if he was drunk; Cindy respected him more just because it didn't seem like a regular occurrence. He didn't act like someone who had practice. "You've got to let us in!"

Kevin and the handyman exchanged looks.

"I say fuck 'em" said the stranger, shrugging. "We gave 'em a chance to come with us, and they chose to stay down there. Their own fault. Not our problem."  
>Mark could hear through the door. "When I break this door down, then shove it up your ass, would that make it your problem?" he demanded coldly.<p>

"Let's calm down" said the doctor. "Please, you've got to let us in. Those…people outside are in the building, and they're coming up the stairs."

"We can't just leave them to die!" Cindy shouted, sending a pleading look to Kevin. "There are four people out there who need our help."

The officer nodded, slowly. "You're right." He turned to the handyman.  
>"We've gotta get this open."<p>

The handyman stepped away from the door. "I'm not sticking my neck out for somebody I don't even know. You wanna let them in? Go right ahead."

Kevin swept his eyes across the room, locking with Jim. "You gonna help?"

The other man shook his head. "_Fuck_ that!" he shouted. "I don' want no part a that!"

"Ah hell" muttered the business woman. "_I'll_ help you."

"Thanks" said Kevin, sounding grateful as they began to pry the boards away. From the other side, Mark fired his handgun.

"Stay back! All y'all can just _back up_!"

"Not to seem overly pushy," said the doctor from the other side of the barricade, "but things _are_ getting a bit interesting over here."

Kevin and the blonde woman pulled the last plank free, then yanked the door open. The three men hurried inside… but there were only three: Mark, Bob, and the doctor.

"Where's Will?" Cindy asked.

The doctor made a face, then stepped forward, trying to look compassionate, an expression he might've accomplished had he not been drunk. "I'm sorry, Miss, but…he didn't make it."

Cindy's knees gave out almost immediately, and she found herself on the floor, stunned. _Will…dead? _It didn't seem possible. Will had worked for Jack as long as she had; he was her buddy. He couldn't be dead…could he?

"We've got problems!" Kevin shouted, slamming the door closed. A second later, a low moan was funneled down the hall. It sounded at once ravenous and mournful, and Cindy shuddered at the sound.

"Those things are coming" Mark told Kevin, Bob having moved over to lean on the doctor. Clearly the old man wasn't in good shape.

"We've got to keep going up" the cop replied, pointing to the ceiling. "Once we get on the roof, we can jump across to the apartment next door, and then-"

"J-jump?" stammered Jim, his eyes wide. "Whaddya mean, jump? Are you _insane_?"

But the blonde woman was smiling, nodding slowly. "No, he's on to something." She walked over to Yoko, pulling the younger woman to her feet. "To the roof!"

Jim moaned pitifully. "Man, I don't like heights."

Kevin walked over and grabbed the collar of his jacket, pulling Jim to his feet, glaring down at the shorter man. "It's time for you to grow a pair" he said irritably. "Man up, or I'll leave you here. Are we clear?"

"Y-yeah" Jim replied, after a moment's hesitation.

"Miss?" Cindy looked up to see the doctor. "Miss, we have to go."

She nodded slowly, standing on her own.

"Are you okay?" he asked, half raising a hand to steady her, but she didn't need it.

"I'll be…I'll be okay."

Mark and Kevin were both shooting at something at the door. "Let's _move,_ people!" the cop shouted over his shoulder.

"Where do we need to go?" asked the Doctor.

Cindy heard him without hearing him, watching the two men shoot at things she couldn't see. It seemed odd that they'd resorted to deadly force so quickly, but only dimly did the thought register in the haze that had consumed her mind.

"Miss?" the doctor asked again, a little more forcefully. She felt his hand on her shoulder, shaking her briefly, trying to draw her out. "_Where do we need to-?_"

Cindy pointed behind her. "Through there. There's a storeroom. We usually climb the boxes to go through a window. Will goes up there to smoke sometimes, and-" She shuddered a moment realizing Will wouldn't be doing anything of the sort, not ever again, but recovered after a moment. "That way" she said more firmly. "We have to go that way."

The doctor smiled. "Thanks." He looked at the others. "Let's go."

Predictably, Jim was the first one up the stairs, hurrying to get outside.

"I thought you were afraid of heights?" the blonde woman called after him.

Jim didn't even skip a beat. "Crazy fuckheads trump heights any day, lady. You oughta know that."

Kevin and Mark had backed into the employee break room. The cop sent the blonde a casual smile as he reloaded his weapon. "You know, he's got a point-"

"Oh shut it" she replied, but without malice.

Jim began to climb the precarious stack of boxes, whimpering slightly as they shifted beneath his weight. "Man, I _do not_ like this."

Kevin and Mark were both standing at the doorway, weapons trained out on the five or six people who'd found their way up the stairs. Many had obvious wounds, and were covered with blood, signs of dislocation evident on several limbs. They all stumbled about with the same drunken gait, regardless of whether they were a filthy-looking homeless man or what might have been a Catholic priest, his robs torn and stained.

"Son, I suggest you _learn_ to like it" snapped Mark, watching the newcomers warily.

Cindy waved Yoko ahead of her, then started to do the same for the older woman, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine" she said, smiling just a little as she pulled a small, black plastic box out of her pocket. "Anyone tries anything fun, and they get introduced to my little friend."

Cindy smiled faintly, then began her climb. A second later she heard the other woman start her ascent, followed by the handyman, while Bob and the doctor came after. Just Kevin and Mark stood below, and they were arguing about who would be the last to leave.

"I'm a cop" protested Kevin.

"I've been in combat before" Mark answered. "Besides, I have a bigger mag."

"_I_ have more stopping power!" Kevin retorted.

"Not _that_ much-"

"Gentlemen, perhaps we should get a move on?" the doctor suggested.

"Go!" shouted Kevin, using his head to point over his shoulder. "C'mon, I'm probably faster than you, and it's my job to watch out for civilians."

Mark shook his head. "Punk ass kid" he muttered, but without much anger as he began to climb. Kevin began to climb backwards, keeping his weapon trained on the ever growing crowd in the next room over. One by one, the strangers were stumbling toward them, and soon the trickle became a rush as they continued to pour in from down below. Cindy thought she'd seen some of the people down there before, especially-

"Will!" she exclaimed, waving to her coworker. "Will, hurry! We have to go!"

Will turned to look at her, his jaw hanging slackly open, his body stooped, as if he was on some form of drugs. A small string of saliva hung from his open mouth, and somehow Cindy knew there was something wrong with his vacant eyes, but she kept trying to get his attention, stretching out her hand to him as he slowly made his way into the storeroom.

"Hey, wait!" exclaimed the doctor, reaching out and pulling her back when Cindy started to reach down for him.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, looking him in the eye. "That's my friend!"

The doctor shook his head. "No, Miss, I'm sorry, but that _can't be_. I checked his pulse. He was dead."

"But he's down there now!" Cindy shouted, pointing down at Will, who stared up in dumb incomprehension from his glazed eyes.

Kevin kicked a young man in the face when he tried to climb the boxes after the cop, breaking the jaw. "No" he said firmly. "Stay down there."

"Watch out!" shouted Mark, firing his handgun twice, knocking free two more who'd tried to climb up after him. Both bullets struck the two men in the shoulder, and they fell free with a soft grunt, landing heavily on the wooden floor, but slowly getting back up.

Kevin climbed up another tier of boxes, to where he, Mark, Bob, Cindy, and the doctor were just above him. "Why aren't we moving?" he asked.

"The latch is stuck!" shouted Jim, from his place at the top. He pointed to the small window at the top of the pile.

"Is _that_ all?" the blonde woman demanded. Not waiting for an answer, she crawled past Jim, then kicked out savagely at the window frame, knocking it free. "See? No big deal."

Kevin and Mark were firing into the people climbing the boxes after them, bullets striking flesh with little red puffs of blood, causing them to slide back down and knocking loose their grip, burying a few under cardboard boxes full of dried food.

"Damn, this ain't doin' _shit_" muttered Mark, reloading his handgun again.

Kevin nodded, pointing at one individual making his painful way back up the stack. "You're tellin' me. I hit that guy _clean_. How is he still going?"

"If I may" said the doctor. "Mark, you knocked one of those things down earlier, correct?"

The security guard nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving his weapon's sights. "You're right. I did." He paused, then fired again, putting a bullet through the head of an older man a few feet down. With a muffled groan, the stranger let go of the boxes and fell back down, knocking a few others loose on his way.

"How 'bout that?" muttered Kevin, before replicating the procedure, shooting two more down in quick succession. "Quick thinking, doctor."

"George" he said. "That's my name. And I really think we should be going."

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, you're right. But I've got something to take care of first." He looked down at the mass of people below. "Hey Will!"

Cindy felt a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Miss. You don't…you don't want to see this."

Cindy nodded dumbly as she, Bob, and Doctor George headed through the open window. She flinched when she heard the gunshot, but didn't turn back.

(MARK)

Bob wasn't doing well. His breathing was shallow, he was soaked in sweat, and yet he was deathly cold. Mark had seen tropical diseases do horrible things to men, but never this quickly, and never with these symptoms.

"Feel that nice breeze!" he told his friend, shouting with false jovialness to be heard over the wind. "Doesn't that feel _great_?"

The breeze was anything _but_. It was cold, past the point of being bracing, and it was bringing Mark all sorts of scents and sounds he would rather have left back in Vietnam.

They'd made it onto the roof, after which he and Kevin had collapsed the pile of boxes they'd used in their climb. It would slow down the…whatever the people down below were.

Kevin walked to the edge of the roof, looking down into the dark alley several feet below. He nodded to himself. "Yeah" he said quietly. "Yeah, we can do this."

"Do what?" asked the pushy blonde woman in the suit.

"We're gonna jump across" the cop replied, pointing to the gap. "Shouldn't be too hard. Just get a running start and-"

"Are you outta your _fucking mind_?" demanded the transit guy, his voice breaking in fear. "We can't do that!"

Kevin started to reply hotly, then visibly checked himself. "If you want to stay here, that's fine by me" he said at last, shrugging to show just how much he cared.

The transit guy looked over his shoulder, to where the people in the store room were still moaning piteously, trying to figure out how to get to the sound of their voice. "No, man, that's cool. I think I might wanna stay whit you after all."

"Good choice." Kevin turned to the others. "So…who wants to go first?"

"Well, it was _your_ idea, officer" said the handyman, lacing the title with as much dismissal and scorn as he could manage. "Why not you?"

"Fair enough" replied Kevin. He turned to the ledge, took a few steps back, and then made a running leap over the abyss, landing on the other building, his knees bent, his arms briefly outstretched to balance himself. "See? That wasn't so bad. Who's next?"

Mark wasn't paying much attention to the others, though. Bob had begun to mutter softly to himself, and the veteran was trying to hear what his friend had to say.

"What's that, Bob?" he asked, helping the older man back out of the wind, which was blowing his words away.

"No…more" he replied softly, his knees giving way. Mark supported him as the other man slowly collapsed to the roof, propping his friend against the wall. "No more. I won't be…someone else's baggage."

Mark crouched down beside him. "What are you talking about? You're no one's-"

"You don't…get it, Mark" Bob said, speaking slowly, as if his words were bought with a high, painful price. "I…I can _feel_ it. Whatever's…wrong with those…people down there. It's in me too. I won't…be like them. I won't!" With a darting movement, he had his Beretta un-holstered and up to his temple.

"Bob stop!" shouted Mark, forcing the pistol down with both hands. "What are you doing?"

"I won't…be one of…those _things_" he said quietly, his shoulders trembling slightly. "Please…Just, let me…do this." He looked Mark in the eye, and Mark found himself looking into the face of a dying man. Bob's skin was deathly pale, and his eyes…Mark shuddered. Those eyes were almost totally lifeless, the spark of humanity replaced by the look of a hunted and wounded animal.

Slowly, Mark took his hands off the Beretta. His fist trembling around the pistol's grip, Bob raised it to his temple. "I'm sorry" he said softly, an instant before his index finger tensed on the trigger…

"Bob…" Mark said quietly as his friend slumped over, as if he was asleep. "_Bob!_" Not since Vietnam had Mark Wilkins cried.

Before the night was over, it wouldn't be the only thing to come back from his time as a soldier.

(GEORGE)

The gunshot registered in his mind distantly, but it wasn't until Mark came back from around the corner, shaking his downcast head sadly, his face wet, that he realized what had happened.

"Where's Bob?" asked Cindy, the waitress, a frightened note in her voice.

Mark didn't answer; he just walked past her, a steel-colored pistol in each hand. One he'd hard earlier, while the other must've been Bob's.

_What went wrong?_ George wondered. But in short order he had other things to worry about.

To his right was a small, white-painted metal door. A dull pounding had been coming from it for a while, but now it suddenly flew open…and about a dozen people staggered forward, their slack gazes making clear what was wrong with them.

The handyman had been leaning against the wall next to the door. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, stepping back, his hand dipping into his pocket and returning a second later with what must've been a switch blade.

"Come on!" shouted Officer Ryman from the roof over. "We gotta go!"

The blonde woman and the quiet girl exchanged looks. "You first" the younger one said, glancing worriedly at the darkness below.

"Er…right" said the blonde. "I'll go first. That way, I can catch you if you miss."

Mark was firing both handguns into the crowd, while Cindy and the transit guy huddled behind him, both visibly shaking.

"Come on" the doctor said, trying to coax them forward. "We've gotta go."

Mark shot down two people in quick succession, double headshots causing them to crumple. "Do as the man says!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Nobody here but the dead and dyin'!"

George put his hand on the security guard's shoulder. "That means you too."

Mark shook his head without taking his eyes off the people slowly stumbling through the door. "Forget about me, Doc. I'm stayin' here."

"Don't be stupid" George replied. "You used to a soldier, right? Well, if you stay here, you're abandoning your…unit. We need to stay together." He paused. "Besides, only you and the cop have guns."

He looked over to the edge. The handyman and the quiet girl were both standing there, the man holding the girl's elbow.

"It's okay" he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Just take a deep breath and jump."

The girl nodded. "Thanks." She paused. "I'm Yoko."

"David. Now go; we're about to have company."

The girl, Yoko, took a step back, then lunged forward and leapt over the alley…and fell about half a foot short.

"Shit!" exclaimed the blonde woman as Yoko screamed. Deftly she lunged forward, catching the younger woman's arm. Together, she and Officer Ryman managed to pull her to safety.

The cop looked over at David. "You next. Don't worry, I'll-"

"I don't need your help" the other man replied, back to his usual standoffish self. Without further ado, he jumped, clearing the alley easily.

The transit authority employee went next, letting out a high-pitched cry as he sailed over the darkness, landing heavily on the other roof. He stood up, brushing himself off. "Yep. Still got it."

George had no idea what "it" was, so he was in no position to contradict the other man, and besides, he really didn't care. He, Cindy, and Mark were the only sane people left on the roof, the tide of psychopaths slowly closing in on them.

"Now might be a good time, Doc" said George over his shoulder, reloading one pistol, the other shoved into his pocket.

"Miss, why don't you go on?" he suggested to Cindy, but the other woman shook her head.

"No, I-I can't."

George smiled, trying to calm her down. "Yes you can. Trust me."

Cindy still didn't look convinced.

"_Doc_…" Mark said warning; the strangers were closing in.

George took a deep breath, rallying his thoughts. It was hard for him to believe he'd been in a drunken depression an hour earlier. Now his mind was clear; it was the same inner focus which took him in the OR. "Here" he said, taking Cindy's hand. "We'll go together."

The young waitress smiled faintly. "Okay."

"On three" said George, as he and Cindy stepped back. "One…Two…"

"Three!" they shouted in unison, leaping over the edge, landing on the tip of the other building. Mark joined them a second later, grunting heavily when he hit the roof, but safe as well.

"Come on!" shouted the transit worker, pausing near an open doorway to wave them forward. "They're all bookin' it!"

George, Cindy, and Mark hurried into the building, which turned out to have been low-income apartments, now deserted, many doors still open. A harsh ringing sound announced a fire alarm, and it looked like the building had been evacuated. They didn't see anyone outside their little group until they reached the bottom floor, then hurried outside, to stand in the free, open air of the street.

Although he didn't think about it, or even realize he was doing it, George hadn't let go of Cindy's hand the entire time.

**Sorry I'm only uploading one chapter today; it's a long one, and I'm not quite finished with the next one yet. Okay, will someone _please_ review this story? I _know_ people are reading; so far only two of you have taken the time to write reviews. Don't make me beg for this, people!**


	12. Broken Gates

Chapter 9: Broken Gates

(ROY)

Lieutenant Kenneth Shaw was slowly making his way around a table inside the Raven's Gate precinct's main watch room. The Vice officer wasn't in the best shape: his flash was hanging loosely off his bones in the most literal sense; huge chunks torn away, savage bite and scratch marks across his entire body. He took slow, shuffling steps, as if his hips had been knocked out of alignment. His eyes stared vacantly ahead, his fingers working mechanically, as if he was remembering typing at one of the room's many terminals.

Shaw didn't react to the small red colored dot that appeared in the middle of his forehead. A second later, there was a loud CRACK, and he'd never react to anything again, dropping bonelessly to the cold grey floor of the ultramodern building.

Roy Jefferson lowered his Berretta 93 from his shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Shaw had been his immediate superior, and a pretty good boss. He was a stand-up guy, a great shot, and an incorruptible cop…None of which had done him the least bit of good. Roy wanted to mutter a prayer for the dead man's soul, but knew it wouldn't do any good. Salvation was a personnel choice, and so far as he knew, one Shaw had never made.

He shook his head in frustration, heading across the watch office. He felt like he'd failed his friends, not sharing his faith with them. But he was new, and it was a touchy subject, and he'd been waiting for the right time…_And now it's over _he thought bitterly. _Good job._

He made his way through the bloodied and battered watch office, passing the remains of Jon Travers, a SWAT officer still clad in his riot gear. Roy had seen the other man come back from the failed barricade at Fourth and Peony, a nasty looking gash in his arm, a bite mark left by one of the supposed rioters.

It hadn't taken them long to figure out that people who were bitten went insane shortly thereafter. Most people would've finished themselves off, or, unable to pull the trigger themselves, would've begged a trusted friend to do it for them. Not Travers. He'd gone down fighting when the station had finally been breached, emptying his Protecta Stryker into the hordes of half-rotten citizens who had swarmed the station. In the end, cut off from his friends, alone and knowing he was about to die, Jon Travers had armed a 40mm grenade against a wall, then hugged it to his chest before throwing himself into a clutch of the infected many officers were already calling zombies. As far as Roy was concerned, Jon Travers had died a hero.

Heroism was in no short supply at the Raven's Gate precinct. Megan Jones, one of the armored car drivers, had been crippled by a nasty looking green-skinned lizard in the basement. Unable to keep up with the fighting, she'd climbed into her transport, shifted into high gear, then tried to batter her way through the steadily increasing "moat" of psychopaths outside. She'd flattened dozens before her wheels finally became too jammed to keep going, and the monsters had broken their way inside. Only after being bitten multiple times did Megan take the easy way out, pressing her Beretta 93 to her temple and riding into eternity on the back of a 9mm round.

There were countless other stories. Jason Krieger, a bear of a man and one of the RPD's mechanics, had been swamped over by a group of infected. He'd been defending a group of children pulled out of a local day care, using only his bare fists. Carla Weinberg, a receptionist, had died in a similar manner, sacrificing herself by leaning against a door, so another group of civilians could escape. Michael Johnson had laced a nearby parking garage with C-4, then began pot shooting zombies below with his CAR-15, drawing their attention toward him. Then, when the entire lower level was packed so tightly none could escape, he'd detonated the charges, burying himself and about a hundred fifty infected in the wreckage.

Roy, Shaw, about half-a-dozen other cops, and Captain Fredericks, the last high-ranking officer in the building, had launched a foray to reach an overturned SWAT van from the main precinct at the old art museum. It had been a nightmare, and Roy remembered the pure adrenaline-pumping terror of the ordeal, firing his burst handgun into the ravening crowd of zombies that encroached on them from all sides.

He remembered seeing two cops killed by what looked like a gigantic fly, the monster holding them down and stabbing them in the back of the neck with a long stinger where its jaw ought to have been. He remembered Captain Fredericks, an MP-5K in each hand, firing wildly into the crowd, not trying to kill anything so much as using his life as a distraction, getting the zombies' attention and allowing the survivors to make a mad dash for the van while he was slowly eaten alive.

He remembered the heartbreak of finding the van already breached, blood oozing from the doors, which had been torn away, while about five former people crouched in the overturned van, feasting on the dead officers from the main precinct, many still strapped into their seats, the crushing realization that no help was coming suddenly hitting him. He remembered the mad scramble back to the station, as the mob slowly consumed their number, taking Shaw when the older officer shoved him through a window, only to be pulled back out when he tried to follow Roy back into the station.

And now…Now he was alone, the last man standing out of a precinct that had once held two hundred officers. Somehow, he'd survived unscathed when so many other better men and women had died horribly in the nightmare that had become Raccoon City.

Roy stepped into the main entryway to the precinct, feeling the wind blow through the many broken windows. The large glass façade had been cool and modern when it was built, but it had been the station's downfall; there was just no way to board up that many windows.

The large glass doorway at the front of the building had been forced off its hinges by the shear weight of the bodies pressed against it. By the time the first zombies had gotten inside, organized resistance within the station ended; every man for himself as officers ran here, there, everywhere, grabbing what guns they could and holing up wherever, the zombies slowly, patiently hunting them down. The few cops who'd tried to make a stand in the lobby had died in there, simply overwhelmed by shear numbers.

Most of the infected had dispersed about the station, following whatever innate sense allowed them to sniff out the living. Still, by the time Roy entered the cold, metallic silver room, there were about a dozen wandering aimlessly about, as if they were unsure what they were supposed to be doing, but wanted to look busy.

Roy leveled the 93, bringing the handgun's detachable stock to his shoulder, flipping the weapon's fire selection switch to the burst setting which gave the weapon its nickname, Raffica. He assumed the required shooting position, his left hand wrapping around the pistol's flip-down foregrip, bracing the stock against his body, squinting down the sights at his fist target. He pulled the trigger, the weapon's slide working three times in rapid succession, a trio of shell casings dropping to the floor and making a care-free _ping!_

Even as their comrade dropped to the ground, his head gone from a vicious triple tap, the other zombies began to turn his direction, arms outstretched to pull him toward their gaping mods, making their mournful sounding cries as they advanced on him.

Roy changed targets quickly, firing burst after burst into the approaching crowd, slowly backing away, knowing he was attracting unwanted attention, but also not caring. His friends and comrades had gone down fighting. He'd be ashamed if he didn't as well.

The slide on the Raffica locked back, and he dropped the spent magazine, jamming home a new one, chambering a round, and resuming his shooting. More and more zombies were heading in his direction, drawn by the rapid sound of gunfire they'd somehow learned indicated food. Roy took a step back, switching to semi-auto to conserve ammo; if he was going to die here, then he wanted to take as many of them as he could with him.

He ran through the next eighteen-round mag a little slower, dropping about twelve zombies before he had to reload again, taking a step back as he fed in the new magazine, eyes darting across the crowd stumbling toward him from all directions. Some had started to come out of the adjoining rooms inside the station, in addition to those from the street; there were at least thirty milling around inside the lobby now, all coming for him.

Roy dropped three in quick succession, the farthest only about five feet away, then spun and shot down another when the woman's cold hands grabbed his shoulder. Then Roy realized there were zombies behind him, and came to another, more distressing revelation.

He wasn't as ready to die here as he'd thought.

That realization made him fight harder, kicking out and destroying knees, using his shoulder to knock down large groups of the dopey monsters in his attempts to get away from the mob.

Then one of the zombies he'd crippled grabbed his leg, and Roy went sprawling on the cold metal floor. The grabby zombie, who he thought he'd seen at church the week before, tried to drag him into her waiting mouth. She partially succeeded; Roy felt teeth break when he kicked out wildly, breaking the dead woman's grip and allowing him to crawl forward. Several more cold hands reached down for him, but he hurried on, keeping a white knuckled grip on the Raffica, afraid he'd loose his handgun in the scramble.

Then a zombie fell on his back, and he knew it was over, bracing himself for the feel of teeth biting into his skin, knowing he was about to become infected. But the body across his back was just that; dead weight, immobile. Then another hand closed around his collar, a warm, living hand, and he found himself being dragged out of the tangle of writhing dead.

"C'mon, officer" said a voice, one belonging to a woman, and familiar sounding to him. "Now isn't the time to take a nap."

Roy scrambled to his feet, backing into a door, shooting a zombie who tried to crawl after them. Slamming the door, he turned to face his rescuer, getting a good look. She was young, about his age, with dirty-blonde hair in a ponytail, and a face that might have been pretty were it not covered in soot and set with a determined expression. She wore a red and white biking suit with written RACCOON CITY COMMUNITY COLLEGE across the chest and over the shoulders of which she'd affixed a belt, a knife and sheath duct taped where it would be within easy reach.

She blinked in confusion. "Roy?"

He nodded, realizing he must've been at least as hard to recognize as she was.

"Fancy meeting you-" she began, but Roy cut her off, his sudden desire to survive kicking in.

"We've gotta get out of here." He pointed behind her. "Through the doors, we might be able to-"

Elza Walker shook her head. "No, the streets are packed with those things. If we hole up here-"

"No, this precinct's compromised. We tried, but we never really stood a chance. As far as I know, I'm all that's left."

Roy watched as what little of Elza's face that wasn't covered in grime and soot went pale. "So, the building is lost?"

Roy nodded. "Yeah. We didn't have enough time to secure it before the first waves started showing up."

"I came here thinking this would be safe, and now you're telling me we're trapped?" she asked, panic and despair warring in her voice. Despair won, and she started to sink to the floor. "It's over."

Roy put a hand on her shoulder. "Not quite yet. You and me are still here; odds are someone else has to be alive out there too. All we have to do is find them, and then make our way out of this nightmare." He paused. "I was about to give up, until you showed up. I don't think God's finished with either of us yet."

Elza smiled weakly. "Thanks" she said. "I needed that."

"Anytime."

Something began to pound against the door; not earnestly, but with a certain ominous patience. Roy had seen the zombies tear down make-shift barricades before; they didn't get tired, and as long as they didn't get distracted, locking doors and blocking hallways only slowed them down.

"I think we should probably get out of here" he said, ejecting the magazine in his Raffica and counting his bullets. _Twelve. Awesome._ "Do you have a weapon?"

Elza fingered her knife. "Just this. My was always kind of overprotective, and he insisted I learn how to use it."

"That won't do for much longer" Roy replied. "We'll have to find you a gun before we try to go outside. And I need more ammo." He paused, noting there was blood on her blade. "Do you know how to take them down? Just-"

"Destroy their brains" Elza replied grimly. "Yeah. I've…had some experience with that already."

"What are you doing over here, anyway?" Roy asked, confused. "I thought you lived on campus."

Elza nodded. "Yeah, but I was meeting Emily and Stacey from church over here when everything hit the fan."  
>"You brought a knife to visit friends?" Roy asked.<p>

"Have you _seen_ some of the people who live over here?"

"How'd you get here?"

Elza sent him a look. "How long have you known me? I rode my bike, genius, but I had to ditch it a ways back. It isn't quite a viable means of transportation."  
>Roy blinked. Elza Walker leave her bike. Unheard of. "Still, it's better than nothing" he replied. "Do you remember where you left it?"<p>

"Of course" she replied. "But it's a few blocks away, and things are…pretty bad outside."  
>"I know. But I still think it's our best option. Once we can find you a gun, we should make in that direction." He put a hand on the door. "When we go, stay behind me."<p>

Elza looked like she wanted to protest, but nodded when she saw the reasoning behind the statement. "Okay."

"Let's go!" Roy shouted, swinging the door open and raising the Raffica up to his shoulder, putting a round between the eyes of the first zombie he saw. As he and Elza hurried across the lobby, he felt the stirrings of something he hadn't experienced since this crazy nightmare had begun.

He felt hope.

(MADDIE)

Hope was the last thing on the mind of Maddie Blackwell. She was currently frantic, a baseball bat clutched tightly in her hands as the high school student made her way through the bloodied remains of what had once been her school. It _looked_ like most of the infected were elsewhere, but she'd learned not to take chances. Chances were what had gotten Wendy Ryan, her best friend, and Nathan Ryan, her boyfriend, killed outside. Her mind was too badly jarred to process their deaths; it _was_ functioning enough to going, though.

Had Maddie been able to hear herself, she would've known she was being less than stealthy. Her feet were kicking the debris lining the floor of the Science Wing, while her frantic breathing echoed up and down the empty hallway, the can of spray paint hitched to her jeans rattling equally loudly. But Maddie didn't catch those sounds, and anyway, she was already terrified enough.

She could hear the noise up ahead, a faint sobbing, coming from one of the classrooms. Sobbing meant another person, a _sane_ one, with feelings, and she made her way in that direction.

It seemed crazy. An hour ago, she, Nate, and Wenny had been standing outside the fancy private school's walls, ready to begin tagging. Her parents both frowned on her artwork, Raven's Gate didn't even teach it, and it had seemed like a good idea at the time to spite both of them at the same time.

Then, out of nowhere, a group of crazed vagrants had come out of _nowhere_, had attacked Nate, had attacked Wenny when she tried to save her brother, and had turned their attention to Maddie when her two friends had stopped moving. Maddie shuddered; she knew she'd have the sounds of their screams imprinted in her mind for the rest of her life. And the way tonight was going, she had a feeling that wouldn't be very long…


	13. Operational Area

Chapter 11: Operational Area

The choppers buzzed over Raccoon City like a swarm of fat, somewhat lazy locusts. They flew in triangular patterns, forming arrowheads, similar to the Canadian geese who'd left the area a few weeks earlier.

The names of the choppers sounded like the guest list at an old East Bloc party: round Sikorskys, the legs of troopers dangling out the sides and big, flat bottomed Pav Lows, which resembled nothing so much as overweight inter-tubers. There were also more traditionally American-sounding birds; two separate Hughes products: the nimble Apache gunship and the smaller, more obese looking Cayuse, which would operate as an eye in the sky for the ground teams. Riding heard over all of them, much like the cowboys their pilots often styled themselves as, were six raptor-like HINDs. The presence of what had once been the main-stay Soviet combat helicopter over an American city only a few hundred miles away from NORAD suggested something was very, _very_ wrong.

Nicholai Zhukov Ginovaef stood at the edge of one of the larger Pav Lows, arms folded across his chest, his custom-made HK PSG-1 sniper rifle slung across his back, the USP .45 he'd drawn for this mission holstered at his hip. He wore a small bandolier of grenades, two fragmentation types, a third containing napalm, all inscribed with his native Cyrillic script, along with a small satchel containing a ruggedized Tough Book laptop. His impassive, rather arrogant Slavic face gave away none of his thoughts as he dispassionately observed the city burning below him.

He'd seen what had to be at least two divisions of the American's reserve army, what they called the National Guard, forming up on the outskirts. Command had advised Nicholai and his fellow Supervisors to expect trouble from US Special Forces teams, believed to already be in the city. The big Russian man scoffed at the idea. A group of soldiers who'd been bested by drug addicted African street urchins with Kalashnikovs would be no match for his elite troops.

Officially, the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasures Force was being deployed into Raccoon City to help establish order, and to rescue civilians trapped in the middle of the "riots." They would _officially_ be working in cooperation with US soldiers and the Raccoon City Police Department to expedite that goal.

But Nicholai and the twenty-or-so other Supervisors being flown into Raccoon City knew better. Their orders were to gather combat data as the American soldiers, police, and their fellow hapless mercenaries tried to battle and ultimately were killed by the Umbrella Biological Organic Weapons loose in the city. With that data, from the first time BOWs had been deployed in a real-world combat zone, Umbrella would stand to make quite a bit of money from their creations.

_And whoever brings in the most data will_ also _make a lot of rubles_ Nicholai thought to himself. He'd been a part of the Soviet Red Army, seeing action during the worst months of the USSR's occupation of Afghanistan. When the Iron Curtain had fallen and Communism proven to be a failure, he'd found himself cut loose from the only profession he'd ever known. He'd briefly become a soldier of a different type, employed by the Russian mafia, before Umbrella had made him a better offer. He'd vowed to never go hungry again.

The other members of his team were busy checking their weapons; mostly M4A1 assault carbines, along with Sig and USP handguns, MP5K's, and several AT4 anti-tank weapons. His platoon sergeant had been confused when he received the order to draw that particular weapon, but he'd learned to trust his Captain's judgment. Nicholai, for his part, wanted so see how effective anti-tank weapons would be against the Hunters and Gravediggers loose below.

He was the only person on the chopper who knew the nature of their mission; that was Umbrella's rule: no more than one Supervisor per platoon. The spies needed to be in a position to get the most varied information possible, the better to give Umbrella an accurate picture of what was going on.

Nicholai had a leg up over the others, though. He knew about the _special_ BOW being dropped in at some point in the next six hours: the one designed specifically to hunt down key members of the local police force. He suspected that was just pure vindictiveness on the part of the Company's upper management; after all, how much damage could a bunch of law enforcement officers do to a company that spanned the globe, and had close ties to many governments, including those of the United States and the Russian Federation?

The chopper began to slowly descend toward street level, and Nicholai unslung his rifle, making sure it was ready to fire, a round in the chamber. Then he jumped down from the still hovering bird, the rest of his troops (for there were men _and_ women in the UBCS) following suit. He'd fought beside these soldiers in South and Central America, in nations where half of them had come from. They respected him and trusted his leadership.

_And,_ he thought to himself, _with luck, they'll all be dead in short order_.

The thought brought a rare, cruel smile to his face.

(MICHAEL WAVERLY)

"C'mon, let's get a move on" complained Roger Gerald, the Ranger standing next to Waverly, rubbing his hands together in the chill Colorado night air.

The US Army Rangers were deployed at one of the Colorado National Guard's dozen checkpoints ringing Raccoon City, waiting for the order to entire the restless city and secure a route for civilians to leave by.

The Guardsmen were more than a little irritated that this particular operation was being handed off to the Rangers. They were all good Colorado boys, many hailing from the burning city less than two miles away, and were itching to go protect their neighbors from whatever had gone wrong in Raccoon City.

In light of that, Lieutenant Michael Waverly could forgive his sergeant his impatience. He was getting tired of sitting here, on this wide-open stretch of highway, exposed to the Colorado winds, which were much colder than anything he was used to in his native Louisiana.

The Rangers wouldn't normally have drawn an operation such as this. If not for the fact that they'd been on an extended training mission in the south-eastern portion of the Arklays, they wouldn't have been involved. But they were the closest combat team in the area, and so they'd been sent in.

That was the official story, anyway. Waverly didn't quite buy it. While it wasn't so unusual for the Rangers to be called in for rioting (the elite 101st Airborne had been called in for race riots in Arkansas back in the sixties, after all), it _was_ strange that they were the only troops entering Raccoon City. But they were, and Waverly was a firm believer in leaving the big decisions to his superiors. He worried about his Regiment; that was a full-time responsibility without getting any extra concerns.

The air was suddenly filled with a loud buzzing, as dozens of choppers roared overhead, flying in arrowhead formations, like a flock of enormous, slow geese.

Gerald spat irritably on the sidewalk, shaking his head. "Man, that ain't right. How come they get to go in first, LT?"

Waverly didn't answer; he was watching the helicopters, his eyes narrow to make out their silhouettes against the fires in Raccoon City. Most of them looked familiar, but…_HINDS? _That_ can't be right_.

Waverly's radio squawked static. He paused, removing it from his belt, holding it up to his ear. He listened for a moment, then replaced the radio in its holster and turned to his men.

"Well boys, looks like it's time to earn our pay!" he shouted, both to be heard over the choppers in the distance and to show more enthusiasm than he currently felt at the moment. Something just felt…wrong about this whole affair.

If his fellow Rangers felt any unease, they didn't show it.

"'bout fuckin' time, LT!" said Gerald, shoving a new magazine into his M4 carbine. Similar calls came from the others.

Had he been more experience, Waverly might have suspected the Rangers were just putting on a brave front, like he was. But he was only thirty, and had only actually seen combat once, in Panama back during Operation JUST CAUSE. He just didn't know enough to know what he didn't know.

There was a distinct shift in the rumble from behind them as _One-way Street_ shifted gears, prepared to support the Rangers as they entered the city. Waverly had done combined arms training with Armor; hopefully, the big National Guard tank would be enough to cow anyone who saw it. With luck, they wouldn't even have to fire a shot.

The Sheridan was the only National Guard unit going into Raccoon City with Waverly's men, and many of the ground pounders watched it enviously, probably wondering why it got to go into danger and they had to stay behind.

Waverly brought his M4's stock into the space just below his shoulder, his left hand curled around the weapon's attached 40mm grenade launcher, his right wrapped around the grip, his index finger resting on the trigger guard. From this position, he could have the carbine up against his shoulder and ready to fire in less than a second. The weapon wasn't safetied, making it all the more important that he maintain good trigger discipline.

Thus prepared, Waverly started across the big highway bridge over the Arklay River, heading into the hellish glow that had become Raccoon City.


	14. Side Trip

Chapter 12: Side Trip

(MAT)

It was like Raccoon City had been abandoned. The streets he and Rebecca hurried down were totally empty, the wide-open spaces creating odd echoes and carrying distant sounds from all over town. It would be hard to hear trouble coming.

Mat wasn't having a hard time accepting what was going on in the city. It was as if the past few months of normality were only a dream: _this _was his reality, now, and he had no trouble readjusting to his current situation. He wasn't bothered by that fact, and some part wondered if that in itself ought to concern him.

They didn't see any infected, but everywhere were the signs of their passing. Broken windows, abandoned cars, large bloodstains on the sidewalks and walls, even in the streets, where people had been dragged to the ground and devoured. Unconsciously, both Mat and Rebecca kept to the center of the road, as far from the lengthening shadows around the buildings as they could. Despite different experiences with Umbrella's monstrosities, both knew unfriendly things lurked in the dark.

Eventually, they came to a fork in the road, a large, wedge shaped building called Grady's Inn standing directly in front of them.

"We need to go this way" said Rebecca, pointing to the right.

Mat shook his head. "No, I think we should head this way" he replied, pointing to the left.

"But Mat, that takes us toward Ethane Square. We need to get to Raven's Gate."  
>"I know, but maybe we could take a little…side trip."<p>

Rebecca looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Mat pointed to the left again. "I live that way. In my apartment, there's a journal I took from the Mansion. The way things are going, I think it might be a good idea to grab it. The way things are going, it might be the only chance I get."

"But what about the _Ops Journal_? I thought-?"  
>"That <em>was<em> you!" Mat exclaimed. "I suspected as much, but I wasn't sure." He shook his head. "Some Umbrella scientist picked it up when I got busted earlier this morning. Who knows where it is now. I'm sorry, but now that journal is the _only_ evidence I have of Umbrella's wrongdoings."

"There's that data I sent to the reporter who visited me in the hospital-"

"Ben and I were sharing a cell before Irons let me out to go on this merry little adventure with you" Mat replied. "He's not in a position to do anything. It's just you and me right now." He paused. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I screwed up. If you don't want to come with me, you can wait here. But I have to make this right."

Rebecca sent him a look. "Are you _serious_?" she demanded. "Of course I'm going with you!" She shook her head in bemusement. "How long have you known me?"

Mat thought for a minute. He could only vaguely remember a time in his life when Rebecca _hadn't_ been a part of it. "A really long time" he said, after a moment.

"And at what point, all these years, have I ever run away from danger?"

_About two weeks ago_ Mat thought, but didn't say. It wouldn't have been particularly fair, and it might've _really_ made her angry.

Rebecca realized that about the same time he did, though. "I'm sorry" she said, after a minute. "I can understand if you don't trust me anymore. But…I _want_ to make up for that."

Mat smiled. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "You don't have anything to apologize for. You're my best friend. Nothing's gonna change that." He paused and sent her a mock serious look. "And I don't want to hear anything more about it."

Rebecca smiled and nodded. "Thanks Mat. I needed to that. Now, what're we waiting for?"

The zombies who had attacked his apartment building earlier in the morning had apparently decided to seek other hunting grounds. The RPD had taken quite a few prisoner, which meant the small walk-in clinic down the street had almost certainly been overrun; it was too late to do anything about that, anyway. Mat was hoping they didn't run into any infected. His Benelli and Rebecca's SMG were neither one especially quiet, and if they had to shoot their way out of a sticky situation, they'd just be ringing the dinner bell for any others nearby.

The street leading directly to Mat's apartment was totally deserted, save for the bloodstains from earlier. But several buildings had their doors either wide open or smashed down, meaning there was a strong possibility the infected were inside. He could feel the hairs prickling on the back of his neck, as if someone was watching them. He thought about saying something to Rebecca, but decided not to freak her out; it never occurred to him she wasn't saying anything for essentially the same reason.

He led Rebecca around back, to the fire escape…which was up.

"Damn," he muttered, shaking his head, "we'll have to go around."

The lobby door was hanging on its hinges, splinters lying about on the floor. Mat motioned for Rebecca to stay back, then eased his way inside.

The power, amazingly, was still on. Mat wondered at that for a moment, before he remembered there was a backup generator. If it had kicked on at midday, though, it would've run out of fuel, unless…_Someone's here to take care of it_ Mat realized. That meant there was, or at least had been a few hours ago, at least one survivor in the building. _Maybe we can convince them to come with us._

But he had other business to attend, first. The power may have still been on, but at some point during the catastrophe, the single fixture in the lobby had been broken; the only illumination came from other, half-open doors. It made the area, normally so inviting, seem like something out a bad horror movie.

Mat clicked on the rail-mounted flashlight on his Benelli, grateful it had been included with the weapon. If he was out here for a while, it would eventually run down, but he only intended to use it indoors, and even then he'd probably end up relying on his night vision. In either case, he hoped he wasn't out here long enough for it to be an issue.

There was a wet smacking sound coming from behind the front counter. Mat had heard the noise before, and knew what it almost certainly entailed. Cautiously, he stepped around the side, bringing the shotgun to his shoulder as he did so.

There was a man, crouched over the body of the desk clerk, who had a nasty and certainly fatal wound in her chest. Her eyes stared blankly to the left; judging by the size of the wound, she'd been a meal for a while, meaning she was probably going to be getting back up soon.

The zombie man looked up when he saw the flashlight beam, making a groaning sound oddly similar to a goat. He slowly stood up, stepping over the murdered receptionist's body, shuffling toward him.

The shotgun would be unnecessarily loud in the confines of the room, but Mat didn't want to loose the flashlight by switching to either his Browning or the Colt. Barring that, he stepped closer to the approaching zombie, pressing the barrel of the scattergun up against the man's forehead.

The zombie's glazed eyes drifted up and crossed as they stared at the weapon pressed into his temple, as if unsure what was going on, his jaw working slowly in confusion.

"_Ganarn_" he said, incapable of anything more intelligent.

"Good night" Mat replied, pulling the trigger.

The shotgun discharged from well within its effective radius, buckshot tearing through the zombie's skull, taking it apart in the blink of an eye and splattering it across the already bloody wall behind him. But the gases used to propel the shot forward, and where most of the noise associated with firing a weapon came from, also entered the skull, further desecrating the dead man's already violated body. It didn't quite suppress the sound of the shotgun's report, but it changed the pitch of the noise from a loud BANG to a small thump. Without working vocal chords to make any other noises, the zombie sank to the floor in a broken heap.

Mat loaded another shell into the shotgun, and then knelt down beside the receptionist. He'd only ever actually spoken to her twice, but he'd waved to her often; she was a cute kid, probably an upperclassman in high school, looking for extra cash, and _damn it all_, he _knew _her, and none of this seemed particularly fair.

_Life has a way of doing that_ he thought, reversing his grip on the shotgun and slamming the stock down on her skull.

(REBECCA)

Rebecca recognized the sound of the shotgun for what it was, but didn't know what to do. If she ran into the middle of the room, Mat might shoot her by accident, startled by the noise. Besides, if Mat _was_ shooting at zombies, there could be more inside, and she didn't want to rush in and get bitten by accident.

Still, after about five tense minutes of waiting, she'd had enough. She edged forward cautiously, careful to keep her back to the wall as she leaned into the building.

"Mat?" she whispered, trying to pitch her voice so it would carry. "Mat, are you there?"

She heard something shift from ahead, in the odd half-darkness created by the ceiling lights in other rooms, and immediately Rebecca had the MP-5 up to her shoulder, the rail light activated.

"Ah!" shouted a voice. "_Thank you_, Becca. I really needed that."

"Oh" she answered sheepishly, lowering the weapon. "Sorry, I thought you were a-"

"I understand. There were two in here, but I got 'em both about a minute ago. Let's get a move on. Stay behind me; I know my way around here better than you, anyway."

"Okay" Rebecca said, bringing her weapon's stock up to her shoulder, careful not to aim it at Mat's back or put her finger directly on the trigger.

The odd dark/light-ness of the hallways made it hard for Rebecca's eyes to adjust. She could make out Mat's shape just ahead of her, silhouetted against a partially open door he was heading toward.

"Stairwell" he whispered, motioning her to stay back.

Rebecca made a face, but didn't argue. Mat was his SWAT team's Pointman, while Rebecca was her defunct STARS team's backup…girl. Despite the logic of it, though, a part of her resented what she saw as her friend coddling her. _I've been through just as much as he has!_

Mat eased the door open with the stock of his shotgun, then cautiously stepped into the light, sweeping the weapon back and forth in front of him…then abruptly standing completely still, his whole body tensing.

Rebecca was about to ask him what was wrong, but Mat spoke before she could, as if anticipating her.

"Easy, buddy. You got me. Let's just all take a deep breath." He raised his hands apart, taken his left hand off the Benelli, while his right changed grips on the weapon, so his finger was nowhere near the trigger.

A second later, a hand gripping a chromed handgun came into view, the barrel of the pistol pressed sharply against Mat's back.

"Looter, huh? Well, I already dealt with a couple like you before; one more won't break my heart."

"Looter? Listen, you've got it all wrong. I _live_ here, and I'm a cop. Just let me get my-"

The almost unseen stranger jammed the handgun cruelly into Mat's back "How 'bout no? Why don't you just drop that nice little shotty you got there, 'cop,' and any other weapons you happen to have on your person."

"Okay, okay" Mat answered, apparently trying to keep his tone even. Rebecca could tell he was frustrated, but not quite afraid. Slowly, carefully, he lowered the Benelli to the floor, then lifted his jacket and removed his Browning.

Rebecca caught sight of a strange-looking combat knife sheathed at the small of Mat's back. She didn't recognize it, but she _did_ recognize the red and white emblem on the hilt. _An _Umbrella_ knife?_

The stranger saw it, too. "And that blade, too. Don't want you to try anything funny, do we?"

"No" Mat answered, trying to sound agreeable. "We wouldn't want _that_, would we?"

If Mat was trying to send her a message, Rebecca couldn't make heads or tails of it. Did he want her help? She wasn't sure. She crept forward slowly, crouched down slightly, her MP-5 at her shoulder. She couldn't see the gun-toting stranger, but she _could_ guess where he was, and the 9mm could _surely_ punch through these thin walls.

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut tightly and huddled even closer to the floor when her foot hit a piece of…something, she wasn't sure what. Whatever it was, it made a loud CRACK, and the gun hand stiffened.

"Well, well, I was wondering when your accomplice was gonna come out" said the stranger, chuckling. He reached into Mat's waistband for the knife, instead finding Enrico's .45. "Better and better" he muttered, pulling it out of its holster.

Rebecca saw Mat's face go pale. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was here alone-"

"Shut up!" snarled the man, smashing the handgun he'd started with down savagely on the back of Mat's head. Rebecca winced and as her friend fell to his knees. The stranger aimed Enrico's Colt down the hallway. "Come out, come out, little girl. I got your boyfriend here, and if I don't see you soon, I'm gonna splatter his head all over the walls!" He cocked the hammer, warningly.

"Come on, buddy, can't we just-?"

"You got five seconds" the man said, pressing his other weapon against Mat's head. His finger tensed on the trigger. "Four. Three. Two-"

Rebecca started to lunge forward. Apparently, the stranger had been waiting for that, because he fired down the hallway. Rebecca could've sworn she _felt_ the air from the bullet's passage against her arm.

"No!" Mat shouted, only to be drowned out by a noise from outside.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!

The sound distracted the man with the gun. Mat apparently saw his chance, slamming his plastic-padded elbow into the man's knee. Rebecca heard bones snap and winced in sympathy, even though the other man had just tried to murder them both.

The man let out a scream of pain, dropping Enrico's .45. Mat slammed his padded knee into the man's groin, causing him to start to fold, only to get Mat's full arm slammed across his face. The handgun started to train on Mat's head, but the knife was already out of its sheath, and for a moment Rebecca thought her friend was going to kill the other man, the blade flashing forward, only to stop.

"Nice and easy, now" he said, his face humorless and grim. "Drop it. _Now._"

The handgun clattered to the floor.

"Good boy" said Mat…right before he punched the other man in the face. There was a groan, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. Mat bent down, collecting the stranger's gun, another .45. He leveled it one handed-

"Mat, no!" Rebecca shouted, hurrying into the room.

The tension seemed to bleed out of Mat when he saw her. "I thought…I thought he'd killed you." He shook his head, looking down at the bloodied middle-aged man crumpled on the floor. "His name is Webb, or something like that. He's our superintendent." Mat ejected the .45's magazine. "And apparently, he likes to buy illegal hollow-points. These probably would've gone through our flak jackets." He shook his head in disgust, then turned to Rebecca. "Now, the question is: what do we do with him?"  
>"What, you don't mean-?"<p>

"He was gonna kill _us_! He said he'd already killed two others, at _least_!"

"But we're the _police_, Mat! We can't just go around killing helplessly people." She paused. "Even if they _do_ have it coming."

Mat thought it over for a minute. "Fine" he said, pocketing the man's .45 magazine. He locked the slide back on the handgun, then loaded a round from Enrico's handgun into it, before sliding it closed and placing it next to the unconscious man's body. "There. Now I have an extra mag, and he's still able to defend himself." He turned to Rebecca. "Let's go. It's not much farther."

Rebecca followed him up the creaky wooden stairs, trying her hardest not to think about how close she'd just come to death…or about whatever had let out that horrific, if somewhat timely screech earlier.

(MAT) 

Several doors had been either knocked off their hinges, or left hanging partially open. Mat's was one of the former; it looked like someone with some paramilitary training had kicked it down.

He eased it open the rest of the way, checking around with his shotgun. Surprisingly, nothing seemed taken.

"We're clear" he said to Rebecca, softly, motioning her inside. "Shut the door as well as you can once you're inside" he told her, heading into the back.

"What about you?" she asked.

"There are a couple things I need to grab. Then we can get out of here."

Rebecca made an annoyed sounding noise, but didn't inquire further.

Mat had gotten arrested in jeans. While he liked denim, it wasn't the most comfortable thing to wear for long periods of time, and it was _awful_ for carrying things around in. After making sure Rebecca was still in the front room, he quickly changed into the dark blue cargo pants that were part of his normal, non-riot control uniform. They had _lots_ more pockets, which meant lots more carrying capacity.

Next, he opened his dresser, pulling all the ammo out and stuffing it into his pockets. He had two M1911 magazines, plus about forty-five loose rounds, along with several boxes of 9mm and 5.7mm rounds. He decided to take it all; God willing, he was _going_ to get his P90 back, and to hell with Michael Guthrie.

He'd left the journal from the Mansion under his bed; grabbing it was a little difficult in the dark (no sense in advertising he was at home), but he managed it. _That_ he slid into a backpack, which he then put on, before grabbing another for Rebecca.

"What are you doing?" she asked when he came back out about five minutes after he'd gone into his room, apparently confused by his different pants.

"More pockets" he said, by way of explanation, tossing her the backpack. "What else do we need?"

"Mat-"

"Food!" he exclaimed, answering his own question as he headed for the fridge. The light was still on, and it dazzled him for a moment, but soon his eyes compensated enough to let him see inside. He grabbed three bags of jerky that had probably been there as long as he'd lived in Raccoon City, along with six cans of Surge.

"_Mat-_" Rebecca said again, this time with the hint of warning he'd long since come to realize meant she was loosing patience with him.

"Here" he said, tossing her two boxes of handgun ammo and a can of soda. "Merry Christmas. Happy birthday early. However you want to take it."

Rebecca looked at him in confusion. "My birthday's not until November" she said, looking down at the cold can of soda. "What's this for?"

"It should help us stay awake" Mat replied, looking around again for anything he might be forgetting. _Ah!_ he thought, heading for the wall, where half a dozen pictures hung. He began to take them down, removing the photos, folding them, and sticking them in his wallet.

Rebecca had just turned the can over and read the label. "Mat, this stuff _kills_ people. You know that, right?"

"You're no fun, do you know that?" Mat retorted. "Besides, you're too young to be such an old maid."

The indignant huff that earned him made him smile faintly, but he was somewhat confused when he heard the can click open. He turned around "Change your mind that-?"

SWISHHHHHHH

The can erupted all over Mat's face and upper body. When he could see again, he glared at Rebecca, who had a hand over her mouth and was trying her hardest not to laugh.

"See if I have _you_ over again" he muttered, sponging the soda off his face before it got sticky. He _hated _that sensation.

"That's for saying I'm an old maid" she retorted, her expression one worn only by the rightfully avenged.

Mat was about to reply hotly, but decided against it. "Okay, you win" he said, shaking his head. "Now, let's get out of here."

Rebecca sent him an innocent look, holding up her can. "Don't I get another one?" she asked, somehow managing to look about three years-old.

Mat sent her an irritated look. "No. You'll just have to deal with that."

He opened the door…and found Webb, or whatever his name was, standing there, breathing heavily, his face a blood mess, the Colt raised and aimed at Mat's face. "You _brobe_ ma _node_" he said, revealing a mouth missing a few teeth. Mat thought he remembered feeling them break under his elbow.

"Well, now you see-"

"_Shaddup!"_ snapped the superintendent. "_Ah'm godda_ kill you _dand_ your-"

That was as far as he got. One minute, he was standing there in the doorway, threatening life and limb, and the next; he was just gone, without even a chance to scream.

Mat blinked in confusion, squinting into the darkness. "What the hell?" He turned to Rebecca. "There's something out there. We should-"

Then something slammed hard into _him_, knocking him into the back wall and dropping him to the floor with a groan.

"Mat!" Rebecca shouted, leveling her MP-5…but lacking a target, she had nothing to shoot.

Mat groaned and picked himself up, grabbing the Benelli and bringing it up to his shoulder. "Get in the center of the room" he said to Rebecca. "We have to be watching. Whatever this thing is, it _has_ to be really fast. I didn't even see it coming."

He and Rebecca stood back to back, weapons trained out, scanning the apartment. "It's gotta be in here" she said. "I saw _something_ hit you."

Mat had his eyes narrowed, trying desperately to see down the narrow band of the Benelli's iron sights. He squinted at the wall next to the TV. Was that-?

It was. The wall seemed to bulge and shift, as if it was coming toward him. But it wasn't. The monster was.

Mat pulled the trigger on the Benelli two, three, four times, blasting a large hole in the hole, destroying his TV and his faithful N64…and splashing green colored blood on the floor as the creature crashed to the floor, twitched, and was still.

"Got 'im" Mat said, stepping forward to get a look at whatever nightmare Umbrella had turned out this time. He expected one of the hunters he'd encountered in the Hive, which had nearly killed Rebecca in the mansion: big and humanoid, with large claws, strong legs, and scales. This one looked like it had a more insectoid influence: it was dark red, almost black, and covered with shiny armor, with four large, multifaceted eyes, one of which he'd managed to pop with the shotgun. It had six limbs: two sets of reverse jointed legs, each tipped with a single sharp hook; in place of hands, it had two scythe-like claws. A pair of wings was partially unfolded against the large thorax.

"It's like a giant praying mantis" he muttered, shaking his head.

"C'mon, Mat!" Rebecca whispered tensely. "We have to go. _Before_ more of them show up."

"Right" he said, leading her to the window. Below was the fire escape, and from there, it wasn't more than a five minute journey down to the street, even if the metal was somewhat rusted unstable.

Then they were both down at ground level, and hurrying into the darkening streets. Around them, Raccoon City burned.


	15. Fatalities

Chapter 13: Fatalities

(MICHAEL)

"Jesus" muttered Gerald, shaking his head, as the Rangers filed past _another_ large bloodstain in the middle of the road. There was no way it had all come from one person, not with the bloody footprints staggering away from the stains. _Nobody _could loose that much blood and live. "What a mess."

"Something real bad happened here" agreed Nathan Lucas, their medic. Officially a noncombatant, complete with a large Red Cross on each arm, he'd still been issued a sidearm, a Beretta M9, at the Battalion CO's explicit order. Apparently everyone, from combat surgeons to tank crews, was going in armed.

The city streets were unnaturally quiet; the voices of the Rangers and the rumble of _One Way Street_ echoing loudly around the large, brick and mortar buildings. Still, Michael thought he heard another noise; a soft, low sound, coming from the distance. Almost like…_moaning_? Waverly shook his head. _Calm down, lieutenant. Halloween's not for another few weeks._

In the distance, he thought he could hear gunfire: rapid fire assault rifles and submachine guns on full automatic, plus the single, sharp barks of shotguns and the slightly shorter staccato of handguns. Somewhere, someone was having a pretty large gun battle.

"Whoa shit!" exclaimed Enrique Delarosa, the machine gunner he'd chosen to enter the city with them. The Rangers all spun as one to see what the normally rock-solid Puerto Rican was so vocally startled by.

There was a large…Michael wasn't sure what it was, but it was definitely not something that belonged in the middle of a city, or on top of an American light tank. The insectoid creature raised its flat lower body, then slammed it down on the hull of a _One Way Street_, propelling itself through the air…and right on top of Hendricks, one of the squad's rifleman.

Hendricks tried to bring his M4 to bear, had it almost to his shoulder before the monster bug had knocked him off his feet, pinning him to the ground. Hendrix tried to keep his carbine between himself and the bug, using the short weapon to force the monster into the air. But the flat bodied insect had other ideas, unfurling a long, thin straw-like appendage…and jamming it into the man's chest.

"Agh!" exclaimed Hendricks as the stinger drove itself into his chest, causing blood to splatter across the bug's armored front. His boots kicked frantically as the monster actually seemed to…suck his blood.

"Get that off him!" shouted Michael, hurrying forward, his M4 slung across his back. The 5.56mm had ridiculous penetration, and he could just as easily shoot his Ranger as the creature. Instead, he drew his M9, pressed the handgun up against the monster's head, and pulled the trigger four times.

BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM

Michael saw four perfectly flattened rings of metal slide down the bug's exoskeleton and clatter to the street, his eyes going wide. _What the hell, it's _bulletproof_! How could it possibly have evolved _that_? There was no way such a defense mechanism had occurred naturally; someone made this thing, whatever it was, to kill soldiers. _

"Grab this bugger, LT!" shouted Lucas, reaching down and taking hold of the flat monster. Michael did likewise, and together they managed to lift the squirming blood sucker off Hendricks and flip it onto its back.

Michael got a good look at the monster. It wasn't a true insect, it had too many limbs; six legs, and two small, crab-like claws just below its head. Its rear four legs were reverse jointed, like a grasshopper's, which, when combined with the tail-thump maneuver it had executed off the tank, made it a formidable jumper. Take all that, plus the fact that it could withstand four pointblank 9mm rounds, and you got…

_A very effective killing machine_ Michael thought.

Then he had to take a step back as Delarosa hosed the monster down with his SAW, the 5.56mm rounds tearing through its softer underbelly. The bug squirmed and screeched and thrashed wildly with its legs as the rounds literally ripped it apart, turning the abomination into a blood mess.

"What the _hell_ was that thing?" Gerald asked, shaking his head, his hands clutching his carbine so tightly his knuckles were white.

Since Michael didn't know, he didn't answer the sergeant, instead turning to squat next to Lucas, who was leaning over Hendricks.

The medic shook his head. "Dead, sir. Bastard speared him right through. Like a giant fucking mosquito. I'll bet if we sifted through that thing's remains, we'd find a bunch of Hendrick's bodily fluids inside."

Michael shook his head. _Damn, damn, _damn, _this is _not_ how it was supposed to be!_ Slowly he unclipped his radio from his belt. "COMMAND, this is Ranger team ROMERO 4, and, uh…we've had a KIA. Anthony Hendricks. Over."  
>There was a pause. "Understood, ROMERO 4. What is your location, over?"<p>

Michael sent a look over to Gerald; the sergeant had an uncanny knack for always knowing exactly where they were, whether it was the deserts of Nevada or the streets of Raccoon City, Colorado. "Ninth and Ethane" the other man replied, after taking a moment to consult his mental map.

Michael relayed that to Command.

"Okay, ROMERO 4, you're right on schedule. Now, we need you to keep going. There's a-"

"Excuse me?" Michael asked, genuinely puzzled.

"You need to keep going in the direction you have been" continued Command. "You're making good time, but we need you to-"

"I'm sorry, but one of my men is _KIA_, and you're worried about a _schedule_?" Michael demanded, again breaking radio etiquette. "He got eaten by a giant bug, for crying out loud! What are your orders?"

There was a pause. "Lieutenant, your orders are unchanged. Continue on toward-"

"What about the body?"

Pause. "Standing orders are to leave all deceased personnel where they fall. It is not expedient to-"

"Fuck expediency!" Michael shouted. "One of my men just _died_, and you want me to leave him in the middle of the street like road kill?"

"Correct. Once this operation is over, the Army will make all efforts to retrieve casualties, but _until then_, continue as ordered." The line went dead.

"Man, this is some bullshit!" shouted Delarosa, his muscular arms trembling as he gripped the SAW. "We can't just leave him here!"

Michael took a deep breath. "Yes, Rangers, we can. We don't have a choice. Let's get a move on."

The Rangers moved off, silent but for the rumble of _One Way Street_. The quiet of his men hung heavier over Michael than the silence of the city they were moving through.

(ROSA RODRIQUEZ)

Things had gone to hell from the beginning, from the minute they'd jumped off the chopper and their boots had touched the streets of Raccoon City. From then on, everything had been FUBAR.

"Watch your fields of fire! Do _not_ let them get behind us" barked Ginovaef, their new Russian officer; Rosa had liked the other guy, Donnelly, a lot better. But Donnelly had been killed on a training mission last week in Venezuela, and so they were stuck with this Russian prick instead.

Rosa steadied her weapon, an M16 outfitted with a variable-zoom scope that let her damn near snipe with the rifle. She had the weapon set to its lowest magnification, now. After all, her targets were a bare dozen feet away.

They were people, or had been people, but now they were just shambling, mindless…things. Rosa had seen what happened to Roselle when the things got hold of him. She didn't have any desire to die like that, and she wasn't _about_ to waste any sympathy on these shits who clearly wanted nothing more than to rip her apart.

"Fire!" shouted Ginovaef, the last syllable of his command drowned out by the sudden volley of fire his squad let loose.

Rosa lined her first shot up on the chest of one of the men who'd killed Roselle, watching as three 5.56mm (or, as they would've said here in the US, .223) rounds slammed into him, staggering him back…but not stopping him. _What the hell?_

She saw the other shamblers taking similar punishment, but not going down; worse, these…things were closing the distance between themselves and the UBCS lines. Closing it _quickly._ Rosa fired again…and again…and again, triple cracks from the M16's 30-round magazine that might as well have held pebbles for all the good they were doing. Suddenly, she found she had an urgent appointment…anywhere that wasn't here.

Rosa had never run from a fight in her life, not even when she'd been a lonely little girl growing up on the streets of Buenos Aires, a city unfriendly to orphans, but especially to orphaned Mexicans. But now, she knew she just had to get _out_, get away. There was a fight or flight response hard-wired into everyone's brain, and for the first time in her life, Rosa chose the latter.

She noticed two others were also running: John Werbowski…and Ginovaef. _What the hell, the Russian's leaving too? Guess I shouldn't feel so bad_.

"Wait up!" she shouted, putting more speed into her run. The three of them could probably make this into a good story, she decided as she heard the rattle of automatic weapons turn into the screams of her teammates as the shamblers tore into them. _Yeah. We didn't_ run_, we just staged a tactical withdrawal after everyone else was dead_. _Yeah, that's it._

Rosa had gotten into the UBCS for her background; she'd stayed in by ruthless and cunning, sabotaging her fellow trainees until enough had succumbed to unfortunate accidents for her to become top of her class. She might never have run from a fight for today, but neither had she ever fought fairly. That was just setting yourself up for a loss, and she knew it.

She spun around, to see that some of the shamblers were making their way down the alley after her. _Shit_. "They're coming!" she shouted to the men, hurrying after them.

Werbowski was in the process of climbing a fence, Ginovaef already over the other side, watching his two squad mates as they followed him. The shamblers weren't far behind them, it was gonna be close, and Rosa slung her assault rifle, grabbing the chain link fence and starting her climb.

She noticed Werbowski stop just a few feet above her, where his larger body was blocking her way. "What the fuck, man?" she demanded. "C'mon, those things are comin'!"

Werbowski smiled faintly. "I know" he said, looking down at her, his smile becoming decidedly unfriendly. "Sorry, Rosa. Just not gonna be your day."

_Oh God, no-_ Rosa's mind dashed to the inevitable conclusion, her right hand jerking down for her Sig handgun, but in the end, someone had been more ruthless than she was.

Werbowski had his Glock 18 drawn and held against his chest. Before her 9mm could clear its holster, he'd leveled his machine pistol and fired a burst into her abdomen. Rosa let out a gasp, mostly of surprise but which sprayed blood from her open mouth as she fell back to the concrete, a look of surprise frozen on her face.

Through her dimming eyes, she saw Werbowski shake his head ruefully, holster his Glock, and started to climb the fence…only to jerk twice and fall backward, landing on Rosa's stomach and expelling more blood out of her mouth. On the other side of the fence, she saw Ginovaef lower a suppressed USP, then turn and walk away, as if nothing had happened, and Rosa Rodriquez's last thought was that she hadn't been quite as ruthless as she'd thought…


	16. Defense in Depth

Chapter 14: Defense in Depth

(KEVIN)

The cop standing outside the apartment wasn't one Kevin recognized; that made sense, since he was probably from the tiny precinct here in St. Michael's. He was standing near a squad car, a SPAS-12 clutched in his hands, and a hunted look in his eyes. He spun the heavy scattergun in their direction, but oddly enough the sight of Kevin and Mark's handguns trained on him seemed to relax him.

"Oh good, you're still among the living" he called out to no one in particular. "We're sealing off this area; I suggest you get yourselves to Third Street. We've set up some barricades there, and we're evacuating civilians."

"Bout time" muttered Jim the transit guy. "Man I cannot _wait_ to get out of this!"

Kevin headed toward the strange officer. "How are things going?" he asked, trying to keep his voice low.

The other man looked him up and down, recognizing his uniform. "Select Police Force, huh? What the hell are you doing _here_?" He shook his head. "Well, it doesn't matter." He pointed to the radio. "We got called out at about six tonight to try and get a handle on the riots, but there just weren't enough of us here. Hell, this area's always been _quiet_, for fuck's sake! We never stood a chance. As far as I know, I'm all that's left of the St. Michael's Precinct. We put out a call for reinforcements from the HQ and Ethane, but I don't know if they ever made it."

Kevin shook his head in disbelief. "So, this…whatever it is that's going on, it's affecting the entire city?"

The officer nodded. "That's right. It's gotten really bad. We lost contact with our precinct about twenty minutes ago…back when there were fifteen of us on the street. Now…now it's just me, and my trusty shotgun." He pointed behind his back, down the street. "I've been doing my best to keep 'em off the road, but the SPAS is kinda load, so they've probably heard it and decided to come get some dinner. Stick to the main roads, head through the arcade, and _stay out of the alleyways._ That's where my partner and the other patrol car assigned to this area got it."

Kevin nodded. "Thanks for the advice. What about you?"

The stranger shook his head. "My orders are to remain on Clock Tower Circle until reinforcements arrive. I intend to follow them."

Kevin put his hand on the older cop's shoulder. "There's no reason for you to die here-"

"Orders," the other officer replied, "are orders."

Kevin shook his head. "Patrolmen, your position here is untenable. Tell me, have you seen anyone else come through here who wasn't batshit crazy?"

The beat cop stopped for a moment, his eyes cast down to the pavement, as if he was trying to think…and not liking the conclusions he was drawing.

"Face it: everyone here is dead. Why should you have to die too?"

The patrol officer still looked unsure. "But…my orders…"

"You can either come with us, or you can stay here and die" Kevin snapped, getting irritated. "Which do _you_ think will help matters more?" He sighed. "We have two guns and eight people. That's too many for me and my security guard friend to keep track of. But if you came too, then we might stand a chance of getting everyone of us oughta this alive."

"Okay" said the cop, after a moment's thought. "I'll do it."

"Uh, officer…"

Kevin turned to look at the doctor, George. The older man had apparently sobered up in a hurry, and wasn't holding Cindy's hand anymore; instead pointing at the Asian girl.

"What is it?" Kevin asked, noticing the girl was rubbing her temples, like she had a raging headache.

She shook her head, grimacing, eyes shut tightly. "Hurts" she said tightly.

_Great_. "What should we do?" he asked the doctor.

George started to answer, but was cut off by the blonde woman in the business suit. "Shit! Here they come!"

She was pointing down the street. It seemed odd to Kevin that the streetlamps were still functioning, but it was fortuitous, since otherwise they would never have seen the shambling mob heading out of the darkness toward them.

"We need to go" Kevin said aloud, turning to the patrolman. "You know this area, right?" The man nodded. "Good. Lead us out of here."

The patrolman nodded, his resolve return. "Right" he said, clutching the shotgun across his chest. "C'mon, follow me." Without waiting, he turned and jogged down the street.

"Let's go!" shouted Mark, urging the others forward. Kevin took a last look at the mob stumbling toward them, noting that a few were wearing the light blue uniform blouse and dark colored pants of patrol cops, before turning and dashing after them.

Their flight was short. Kevin hurried down the street, around a corner, and found the rest of the group stalled in front of a heavy wooden door set into a wall, reinforced with iron bars, a large lock hanging from the handles.

The patrolman started to raise his shotgun, but the handyman put a hand on the barrel, pushing it back down. "It might be a good idea to save those shells" he said, his voice the gravely rasp of someone who'd either smoked ten packs a day for the past twelve years or suffered a vocal chord injury.

"What do you suggest?" the cop growled, apparently irritated that someone had touched his weapon.

The handyman ignored him, instead turning to Cindy. "Bobby pin?" he asked, stretching out his hand.

The waitress nodded, reaching up and pulling the thin black strip of folded metal out of her hair. "Here. What are you going to do?"

The handyman, though, didn't seem to like answering questions. Without another word, he turned his back to the others, knelt down beside the lock, slid the pin into the keyhole, and began to move it around.

Kevin, Mark, and the unknown cop turned to face outward, while the women, Jim, and George stepped behind them.

A loud moaning seemed to fill the air. The mob rounded the corner from the street they'd just left, standing almost shoulder to shoulder and stretching across the entire two lane road. From the opposite end, _another_, equally large group was also approaching.

"Not to rush you, buddy, but it might be a good idea to hurry up" Kevin suggested, sighting down the M1911 on the nearest rioter's chest. After a moment's consideration, he shifted his aim up, so that it was just above the young man's head.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the handyman flash him the bird, before going back to work. _Fair_ Kevin thought. _Probably had that coming._

Something skittered across the roof nearby. Something long and slender, like a silverfish…_Or an earwig_ Kevin realized. _A really, really big earwig. Outstanding._

The patrol cop saw it and leveled his shotgun as the big, brownish colored bug reached the street. Kevin and Mark aimed their own weapons, ready to fire if the SPAS couldn't get the job done.

"There!" shouted the handyman, as the lock clinked open and fell to the ground. There was a creak as the big wooden doors were swung open, and the others hurried through, leaving Mark and the two police officers outside.

"What the hell is that?" he asked Kevin, as the bug began to skitter toward them.

"I dunno" he replied. He seemed to remember reading something in the paper a few weeks back about a sighting of a strange arthropod in the Arklay Forest. Scientist had, of course, said the claim was a hoax, yet here the animal was, staring back at him.

The trio hurriedly stepped back, slamming the door closed behind them. "Glad that's over with" muttered the patrol cop, turning around…where he, Mark, and Jim froze.

They were in a small stone courtyard. A drainage channel ran along one side; parked at the other was a massive fuel truck, the driver's side door hanging open from where its operator had bolted. Lining the walls of the courtyard, and looking like enormous cockroaches in a dilapidated house, were dozens of the crawlers from the street.

"So much for that…" muttered Kevin.

The unknown patrolman fired his SPAS from the hip, splattering one of the bugs across the stone walls when it tried to leap across the drainage channel. With a shrill cry, the monster dropped into the four foot deep current and was swept away. But more and more of the creatures were leaping across, using their long, slender bodies to catapult across.

Kevin leveled the M1911 and fired, the .45 round slamming into one bug's head and splattering its brains out on the stone paving stones. Mark took down another with about five times as many shots, the Beretta having a hard time punching through the things' thick armored carapaces.

The patrolman was having the most luck, though. Firing the SPAS from the hip, he was able to effectively engage the bugs, the twelve gauge shotgun flipping the monsters on their backs, causing them to spasm and twist in their death throes.

"Get back!" he shouted over his shoulder. "We've got to get back; then we can-Argh!"

Distracted by yelling at the others, the patrolman hadn't seen the crawler until it slammed into his back, knocking him on his face, the SPAS sliding out of his reach.

The officer tried to go for the Browning HP on his hip, but the bug bit down hard on his neck, a small puff of blood splashing across its shiny brown thorax.

"Open the fuel tank!" the cop shouted through gritted teeth. "Burn…these bastards!"

The bug reared its head back, a long, thin second jaw extending slowly out of its mouth. With a savage jerk, it plunged this into the patrolman's head, punching through his face and mercifully killing him before the creatures began to feed.

Kevin stood staring in disbelief at the mutilated cop; unable to comprehend the man was dead. _And I never even learned his name_.

"Yo! Cop!" Kevin turned to see Mark tugging at his shoulder. "You heard him. Let's light these fuckers up. Get your head oughta your ass and help us out!"

Kevin nodded, his gloved fingers flexing around the Colt. "Right."

He turned toward the truck, but the handyman had gotten there first. Already he was spinning the big metal wheel at the back, opening the tank and dumping gallons of sharp smelling gasoline onto the stones. Slowly, the thick liquid began to flow down toward the insects, which were still digging at the dead patrolman, but were already starting to loose interest.

"Stand back" the handyman said quietly, pulling a small, gold colored metal box from his pocket. With practiced ease, he flicked the lighter open with his thumb, then struck the flint, creating a spark.

"Oh shit-" began Jim, just as Mark shouted for everyone to jump into the water.

Kevin was one of the last into the drainage trench, just before the handyman. A second later, there was a tremendous explosion, as the gas in the truck erupted in flames and then went off like a Roman candle, shooting pieces of flaming shrapnel over their heads. Several pieces landed in the water and, being soaked in fuel, continued to burn.

"C'mon!" shouted the blonde woman, pointing down the tunnel. "Unless you want to get barbecued!"

Waste deep in foul smelling rainwater, Kevin followed her and the other survivors against the current, through the small culvert and into a semidark sewage tunnel.

"_Man_" complained Jim. "These are new shoes!"

Mark shot him a look. "Do you really _want_ something to complain about? Cuz I can give it to you _so_ fast-"

"Boys!" snapped the blonde. "Can you two keep it down? You're giving me a headache."

Amazingly, Mark and Jim did as they were told. That actually turned out to be one of the stranger things that happened to Kevin that night.

(YOKO)

Her head was still pounding, and she still didn't know why. It hadn't ever happened before today; not like this. This heavy thumping noise behind her eyes made it painful to walk, painful to _think_, and that was something Yoko knew she needed to do if she was going to get out of this.

She was trying to stay toward the middle of the group, near the blonde woman, whose name she'd learned was Alyssa. Alyssa was keeping an eye on her, making sure she didn't stumble or fall behind the others. In the mad dash and the semidarkness, it would've been easy for them to forget about her.

Mark, the security guard, was climbing a ladder. With a grunt, he shoved aside a manhole cover, letting yellow colored artificial light spill into the tunnel. Through the crack, Yoko could see running feet as people hurried past the manhole, oblivious to what was going on below them. Occasionally, someone would stop, and then she'd here the sharp report of an automatic weapon, which didn't soothe her headache any.

"Great job" muttered the guy in the transit uniform, whose constant whining was grating on Yoko's normally easy going demeanor. "You led us into a fucking war zone!"

Officer Ryman looked like he was about to say something hot, then changed his mind. "Well, if there are people shooting up there, then at least we know someone else is still alive and not…sick, or whatever the hell it is that's going on."

"I still don't like it, man" the transit guy replied, folding his arms.

"Well, Jim, then you can always stay down here" Ryman answered, smiling. "In the dark. Alone. Or maybe not so alone…"

"Okay, okay, I get it! Let's go!"

Yoko climbed the ladder just behind the waitress, admittedly eager to be out of the sewer, since she didn't like the idea of being down there with who only knew _what_. On the surface, there was still danger, but at least it was visible.

There were more of the shambling, horribly bloodied…whatever they were, wondering around aimlessly, occasionally starting after a passing citizen, only to give up once their intended prey got more than fifteen feet away, repeating the process again and again.

Some of those fleeing were sporting deep gashes on their arms. The majority of the wounded seemed to be cops. Despite their injuries, they turned to fire their assault rifles every few feet, dropping a few of the shamblers with wild sprays of gunfire.

"ALL RPD UNITS, FALL BACK TO THE SECOND LINE" a voice boomed from up above. Yoko noticed a spotlight being shined on the ground and followed it up to a helicopter, hovering about thirty feet over the street. She could see flashes from the chopper, and reasoned there were shooters inside as well.

Officer Ryman turned to the others. "See?" he said cheerfully. "We found the police. Now let's get a move on before we get left behind."

They followed the steady stream of people around a corner, where a long, black metal work bridge crossed the shopping arcade below. A group of police officers stood at the foot of it, some kneeling down, while others stood just behind, training weapons outward.

"Down!" a voice barked, just as Ryman cried "Oh shit!" Yoko felt Alyssa's arm slam into her back and force her to the ground, a second before there was a thunderous volley as the police opened fire. Yoko heard moans from behind, followed by dull thumps as several bodies hit the ground.

"Get up, quick!" shouted the officer in charge of the RPD on the bridge. "Hurry, before more of them show up."

Yoko climbed to her feet, then followed her group of survivors as they joined the steady flow of refugees fleeing the horrors behind them. The firing line of police parted in the middle, letting them cross the long, inverted V shaped bridge.

Most of the refugees hurried across, but the security guard, Mark, stopped and sniffed the air. "That smell…" he muttered, his dark eyes going distant. "God, not here."

Yoko paused, trying to figure out what was going on. All she could smell was the scent of burning hamburger…

"Oh my God" she said quietly, looking out over the bridge, at the virtual sea of people shuffling and jostling below. A low moan rose and fell over the crowd, packed shoulder to shoulder in the wide shopping arcade. There had to be over five hundred down there, maybe even a thousand.

The blonde waitress, Cindy, was shaking her head in disbelief, her wheat colored ponytail making her look like a frightened puppy. "I had no idea it had gotten this bad" she whispered.

Two police officers brushed past Yoko and Mark, as if they weren't there. Both wore the same dark blue uniform as Officer Ryman, with the initials SPF on the back of their integrated riot armor. Both also had on the flat visored helmets used by crowd control police, although these two had their visors locked upright, allowing them to squint down the sights of the assault rifles they aimed down into the crowd below.

"Let's keep things moving" said the officer in charge, stepping closer to Yoko and Mark. She hadn't noticed before, but there were three long slashes, about the correct spacing for a human hand, across his face, which had bled down his cheek, but had now dried. He was clutching a shorter-stocked submachine gun, and had the look of someone who was sincerely hoping the last few hours were just a bad day. Yoko could relate.

"Don't bunch up on the bridge" the officer continued. "We need to keep people moving as quickly as possible. We've established an evacuation area down in the shopping arcade, so if you'll move along-"

"Where to from there?" Mark asked. "Is there a safe zone set up someplace in the city, or are you sending people out of town entirely?"

The cop didn't answer Mark's question, instead turning and moving to another knot of refugees, repeating his instructions word for word.

Mark turned to Yoko. "C'mon" he said. "Let's get a move on."

Yoko nodded, then winced and leaned up against the railing of the bridge, her head suddenly pounding like the footsteps of a heard of elephants.

"You okay, trooper?" Mark asked, sounding concerned.

Yoko nodded slowly, massaging her scalp as she pushed off the bridge. "M'okay" she said weakly. "My head just hurts. It'll pass."

Mark nodded. "Okay, trooper. Now, let's soldier on."

They'd only made it about halfway, though, before the police at the far end of the bridge began shouting, urging people to remain calm, and get off the bridge as soon as possible.

"Ah _shit_" Mark swore under his breath, as the police began firing.

Someone at the far end of the bridge screamed, the sound of someone (Yoko couldn't tell age or even gender) who'd just lost it. The next thing she knew, everyone was running, desperate to get off the bridge.

Yoko felt Mark grab her arm, strong fingers squeezing painfully tight. "Let's go, soldier!" he barked, dragging her along into the crush of people. Although he was hurting her, Yoko was glad he was there; otherwise, it was likely she'd have been trampled in the mad dash.

Things didn't improve once they were off the bridge. The shopping arcade was a narrow warren of alleyways, all circling down to the main concourse below, the only area wide enough to drive a car through. The arcade was claustrophobic at the best of times, and with about fifty panicked people running for their lives through it, these certainly didn't qualify.

Someone else grabbed Yoko's other arm, and for a moment she was afraid it was of the other panicked refugees, or worse, one of the crazy sick people (her mind still refused to call them what they had to be). But it was neither; it was the handyman from earlier. David.

"This way!" he said urgently, beckoning toward an open storefront, through which she could see light.

Mark noticed Yoko had stopped moving entirely and turned to look behind him. He caught sight of David, and the storefront, and figured out the rest. "Lead on" he said in his same bass growl.

The store was one of those small, mom-and-pop family souvenir shops, the sort that catered to tourists. The owners, a sleepy looking man and woman in their early fifties, were blinking at the small group of people they'd invited into their store.

"What's going on?" the man asked, making him quite possibly one of the few people in Raccoon City who didn't have a clue about the state of things.

Officer Ryman filled them both in on the situation, while Alyssa stepped in her direction, Cindy and the doctor a few steps behind. Yoko noticed that he'd grabbed the dead officer's shotgun; clearly he wasn't quite comfortable with the weapon, holding it at an arm's length, as if it might bite him.

"Are you okay?" Alyssa asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "I was so worried when I realized you weren't with us anymore. I tried to go, back _George_ here," she shot an angry look at the doctor, "wouldn't let me."

"If you'd gone back out there, we'd be peeling you off the sidewalk" George replied evenly, not raising his voice. Yoko suspected he'd had a lot of practice dealing with unreasonable people.

"It's okay" she told Alyssa, trying to reassure the older woman, and wondering why she'd taken an interest in her. "We made it, thanks to David here."

Alyssa turned to look at the handyman, her blue eyes narrowing slightly, as if she didn't like what she saw. "Yeah, I wondered where you went."

David didn't respond. He just walked away.

Yoko sent Alyssa a look. "What was that about?" she asked. "He saved my life."

"Yeah," replied Alyssa, still glaring at David's back, "but why? He's got some ulterior motive. I'll bet money on that."

"What's with you?" Yoko asked.

Alyssa shook her head. "I dunno. Something about that guy…I don't know, it just rubs me the wrong way, that's all."

"He seems nice enough to me" Yoko replied.

Alyssa sent her a pitying look. "Honey, you've got a lot to learn."

All heads suddenly turned to the door, as the sound of automatic weapons fire picked up again, this time getting closer.

"Fall back!" the RPD officer was shouting, his voice on the edge. "Get back across the bridge!"

Mark stuck his head out the door, squinting into the darkness. "Man, I can't see _shit_" he muttered.

Yoko stepped out next to him. The entire time they'd been inside her head's incessant pounding had slowed some. It took her eyes a few seconds to readjust to the darkness, after being in the shop. But when they did…

The police were in full retreat, having given up the other side of the bridge entirely. They ran sideways, firing their assault rifles from the hip as several low, dark shapes chased after them. Yoko saw one blur leap through the air and pin a cop to the ground. The two thrashed for a few seconds; then there was a scream, and a long, low howl.

Mark's eyes didn't seem to have adjusted to the darkness yet. His ears worked fine, though. "Time to go" he said faintly, griping his pistol tightly.

Officer Ryman turned to the shop's proprietors. "Is there another way out of here?" he asked.

The woman nodded. "Yes, through the back, there's a flight of stone steps. But wouldn't it be safer to-?"

Ryman shook his head. "No ma'am, and as an officer of the law, I suggest you two come with us. It isn't safe here anymore."

The woman nodded. "Okay. Let me just grab a few-"

"There's no time!" the cop snapped, his cool finally breaking. "Don't you _understand_? Those things are coming!"

"They're here!" shouted Mark, just as a dark shape leapt into the light cast by the open door. Yoko recoiled in disgust as the form of a large dog materialized from the night, hunkering down, its teeth bared as it growled deep in its throat.

It let out a yelp of pain a second later and collapsed, a bullet from Mark's handgun through its head. Alyssa grabbed Yoko and dragged her inside; a second later, Mark hurried in, pulling the large glass door closed behind him.

A second after _that_, another dog appeared and slammed full force into the lower door pane, causing the glass to crack and push inward, but not quite breaking. Mark and Officer Ryman both had their weapons trained on the animal as it prepared for another lunge.

"Let's _go_, people!" shouted George. Yoko turned to see him and Cindy standing at an open back door, waving the owners through. The transit authority guy was right behind them.

"C'mon" said Alyssa, grabbing Yoko's arm and pulling her out of the store. Behind her, she heard glass break, a dog growl, and the dual barks of Mark and Officer Ryman's pistols. She didn't look back, though, instead concentrating on not falling down the sharply slanted stone steps and breaking her neck. Alyssa's grip on her arm helped, but Yoko was still amazed she managed to make it down in one piece.

"Identify!" a voice barked, and suddenly Yoko was squinting in the glare of half a dozen weapon mounted flashlights.

"Hold fire! Hold fire!" shouted a voice from behind. Yoko turned to see Mark and Officer Ryman sprinting down the steps. "They're okay! We're _all_ okay!"

The weapons were lowered, as apparently the police recognized Ryman's voice. "Son of a bitch!" a voice called out. "Kevin, is that you?"

"Damn straight!" Ryman called back. "Good to see you too, Aaron."

The two police traded notes for a few minutes. A woman in the white uniform of an EMT gestured to the others. "Follow me" she said, before leading them to a group of people, about twenty-five in all, clustered around an ambulance and three dark blue police vans. "We're collecting survivors here" the woman explained. "Have any of you been bitten?"

Everyone shook their head. "No ma'am" said George. "We're all in pretty good shape."

"That's good to hear" the woman said, turning to go, without explaining the oddly specific nature of her question.

"Ma'am, I'm a doctor. Is there any way I can-?"

"Sir, I need you to stay here until further notice" the EMT replied, her voice suddenly hard. "We may be leaving soon anyway, and it would be a good idea to stay near the vehicles, anyway." Without waiting for a response, she hurried away.

Yoko heard a few sharp cracks of gunfire from about twenty feet away. Turning to look, she saw a small line of police, standing with roughly a foot and a half between them, griping pistols in two handed shooting stances, forming a line of police between the civilians and a make shift barricade comprised mostly of the flat metal bars used to keep people off the streets during Fourth of July parades. On the other side of that…

_Zombies_ Yoko's mind finally accepted. _They can't be anything else_. _Not as damaged as they are._

It was the mob she'd seen from the bridge. Seen from the same level, they looked even more gruesome, and Yoko felt a cold hand of ice grip her heart as fear slowly took over.

She noticed Mark and Alyssa striding toward the police, and against her own better judgment, began to follow them.

"Officer!" shouted Alyssa, walking with a purposeful stride, the heels of her boots clicking on the stone pavement, her black laptop back thumping against her hip with each step. "Officer, what's going on here?"

The officer in charge spun around to see who was addressing him, and Yoko recognized him as the cop who'd arrested the crazy man this morning. _Only this morning? _Yoko wondered. It seemed like _ages_ ago…

Once he saw that Alyssa was no threat, the cop turned around, to where he was hovering over another police officer, this one kneeling down next to a series of wires, which ran underneath the makeshift barricade.

"Eric, how close are we?" he growled, tapping one foot in irritation.

The other cop didn't look up. "This takes _time_, Nick. Do you want me to blow myself up, or these freaks?"

"Just get it _done_, patrolman" Officer Nick snapped. "Then we can get the hell out of Dodge."

"Officer-" began Alyssa again.

Nick half looked over his shoulder, at the pudgy-faced cop she'd also seen this morning. "Harry, get her out of here. Get them all out of here. This is a police line, not a fucking-"

They never got to learn what the police line wasn't, because at that point, it collapsed. The three men leaning against the first link to collapse fell almost directly on top of the cop named Eric, with more piling on top of him.

The policeman named Nick drew his handgun as he and the other police opened fire. Or at least, most of them.

"Dammit, Harry!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Fire you fucking-_Argh!_"

One of the people (_zombies_) had crawled forward, and took a large bite from Nick's leg. It gave out, and Nick collapsed into the seething mass of bodies, swallowed up, along with Eric, in a matter of seconds.

The officer named Harry was stepping back from rapidly devolving situation, his sidearm trembling in his two handed grip, his face slick with sweat. "W-what do I do?"

Mark answered by firing his weapon into the crowd, dropping two zombies in quick succession. "Fall back, troops!" he shouted, both to Yoko and Alyssa and Harry and the other cops.

Something cold and firm grabbed Yoko's left arm. She turned to see a middle aged man, part of his face torn away by _something_, trying to pull her into his waiting jaws. She kicked out wildly, but lost her balance and fell hard on the ground, the zombie swaying just above her, ready to fall and start eating…

There was a sudden crackling sound, and the old man began to twitch crazily. A second later Alyssa removed her stun gun from his neck, then kicked the spasming zombie out of the way. "C'mon!" she shouted, offering her hand. "Before he gets back up!"

She and Alyssa ran, the sounds of Mark and police firing into the mass of zombies that was slowly flowing over the broken barricade. Up ahead, she saw Officer Ryman, the cop named Aaron, and several other police running toward them, assault rifles held tightly in their hands.

"Fall back!" Aaron was shouting, as he stopped and fired his rifle. "Fall back to the vehicles! We have to get out of here!"

Yoko's legs kept trying to give out underneath her. She _really_ needed to get in better shape; she wasn't used to all this running, and Alyssa was going to leave her behind…

She noticed a small, dark plastic box sitting abandoned on the street. A box with a large, T shaped plunger on top. A box with wires snaking from it in all directions.

Yoko, despite her name, had grown up in the United States. What little she knew of Japan came from her mother, a native of Nagoya. Instead of anime, she'd grown up with Bugs Bunny, Road Runner, and Wile E. Coyote. Because of that legacy, she immediately recognized the detonator for what it was.

She turned and darted back toward it, a plan already half forming in her mind. She wished her brain would stop pounding like a drum; her headache had come back now that they were on the street again, and it was making it _very_ hard to think.

At some point Alyssa must've figured out Yoko wasn't following her, and turned to look. "What the hell do you think you're doing!" she demanded, somehow turning that into a statement of supreme irritation rather than the question it was phrased as.

Yoko ignored her, instead grabbing the detonator and griping it with both hands, before turning to look at the failed defensive line.

The police were all running back toward the vehicles. She could see Mark and the officer named Aaron pulling the pudgy one, Harry, along, while Kevin hurried along behind them, stopping every few seconds to turn and fire his assault rifle into the crowd. A few other officers were still on their feet; of the thirty or so who had manned the barricade, less than ten were left.

Yoko waited for the six legged race that was Mark, Aaron, and Harry to get past her before she pushed the plunger in. She saw Aaron meet her eye, saw surprised respect in his face…

Then there was a terrific, all encompassing THOOM, and Yoko felt a gust of hot wind blow across her, threatening to knock her on her back.

The explosives the late cop named Eric had rigged had been designed to detonate in a sequence, starting at the back of the barricade and working their way forward. Apparently he'd wanted to give himself and his fellow officers as much time as possible to get away from the blast zone.

The fire ball that consumed the shopping arcade was truly spectacular: a series of at least nine separate explosions, working their way away from the survivors. Those zombies standing near the charges when they detonated were instantly vaporized; those farther out were torn to pieces by shrapnel, or blown sky high by the sheer force of the blast.

The explosions took the several parked cars parked along the sidewalk, adding their small gas tanks to the cacophony of bangs that shook the man-made canyon.

Yoko sank to her knees, the detonator falling from her suddenly numb hands. She stared in disbelief at the charred wreckage she'd helped make of Raccoon City's number three tourist attraction, her mind reeling. It took her a second to realize her headache had actually subsided when she pushed the plunger on the detonator.

Someone was helping her to her feet. She looked up, expecting Alyssa or David, or even Officer Ryman, but was surprised to see the transit authority guy. His mouth was moving, but Yoko couldn't make out what was being said.

"What?" she asked, her voice over loud as she tried to compensate for the ringing in her ears. Slowly, her hearing came back.

"I said: _damn_, girl!" he replied, dusting off her jacket sleeve. "That was impressive!"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Yoko found herself smiling. "Thanks. I'm Yoko."

He looked a little taken aback that she'd introduced herself. "Jim" he replied, nodding slightly. "Well…we should probably get a move on."

Yoko nodded. "Right."

The police were herding them into the backs of the three blue vans. There weren't that many civilians left, she noticed, and even fewer police. She commented on that to the one named Aaron, who climbed into the van after her.

"Not to worry, Miss" he said. "We got a bunch of folks out about ten minutes ago, before we lost the bridge. You're just the last group."

"Where've you been sending everyone?" asked Cindy, sitting next to George on the bench opposite her.

"To the police headquarters building" Aaron replied. "Chief Irons is consolidating everything there." He turned to Yoko. "Well done, Miss. That was some quick thinking on your part."

Yoko felt her face heat up. She wasn't interested in getting anymore praise. She wasn't sure what she'd been thinking at the time; now she was sure she should've just kept running and left the hero stuff to someone else. "Thanks" she said weakly.

Aaron walked past her, into the cab of the van as it began to move. She heard him pick up the radio.

"Attention RPD HQ, this is the St. Michael's Barricade. The Shopping Arcade and most of the district is lost, repeat, most of St. Michael's is lost. Do you copy?"

Yoko sat back in her chair, trying to block out the rest of the world. Beside her, Alyssa had pulled out her laptop and was hurriedly typing notes. Cindy and George were talking quietly, while Jim was hunched over a crossword puzzle. At the far end of the van were Officer Ryman and David, sitting on opposite benches. Despite the two men's obvious differences, both were staring out the van's back window, identical expressions on their faces.

Yoko closed her eyes, trying to get some rest while she had the chance. But her mind, while no longer troubled by the wayward herd of elephants, was still not being cooperative. Some basic, and yet somewhat foreign instinct was screaming as loud as it could. One word, over and over again.

Run.


	17. Two and Two

Chapter 15:

Two and Two

(ELZA)

Elza only had to use the knife once as she and Roy made their way through the horde of zombies on the other side of the door. She could see the bloody graze across the reanimated cop's forehead where he'd just missed putting it down. With a sharp reverse handed thrust, she drove the blade between the policeman's eyes, averting her gaze before the film covered orbs rolled up and he collapsed.

Roy was dropping most of his former comrades before they got too close, firing his strange looking handgun with single, sharp cracks, for the most part putting bullets through their brains. Elza had learned how to kill the zombies on the hard trek to the Raven's Gate Precinct; she suspected Roy had learned it during the even more brutal actions leading to the deaths of all his fellow police.

She was seeing a totally new side to her friend. She'd known him for about a year; they'd met at church and struck up a conversation about, of all things, Marvel comics. Elza was, and always had been, a fan of the company, and thought Roy, with his somewhat messy hair, glasses, and quiet nature, bore a great resemblance to Peter Parker, more famous for his Spider Man alter ego.

Roy was usually silent, but when he did talk, it was often a rather profound take on whatever Scripture was being discussed, or something encouraging to say to a struggling member.

Now he was all business, his face set with grim determination while he put the faces of people he'd known and worked beside between the notched sights of his handgun and pulled the trigger. She wondered what was going through his head, or if he was even thinking at all, and not just letting his reflexes do all the work. She was concerned about her friend, and what this was doing to him, but didn't know what to say.

Roy paused in his shooting, ejecting the magazine from his pistol, pocketing it, and shoving home a fresh one, before scanning the lobby for more zombies to shoot. It took him a moment to realize there weren't any left, and even then, he didn't relax.

"Let's go" he said, gesturing vaguely toward a door ahead of them.

Inside that, was a watch room, or office, or whatever the police called it. Most of what Elza knew about how the RPD worked came from watching _Homicide: Life on the Street_, and she wasn't sure just how accurate that was.

This looked a lot…newer than the watch room used by Baltimore's finest. The walls were painted a rather sickly white, while the segmented desk at the center of the room was made of the same color plastic. The chairs were of the thin, folding metal variety. There was a white board lining one wall, scribbled on in several different colors of dry-erase marker, although she couldn't make out what it said.

There weren't any zombies inside, although there were a couple of bloody bodies, one torn to shreds as if by some sort of explosion, another with a ragged bite on his arm, a clean shot through his forehead. Judging by the way Roy's eyes wouldn't quite fall on the dead man, she suspected he'd known the other cop…and that Roy had been the one to put him down.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Roy shrugged. "All things considered, I'm doing a lot better than everyone else here, aren't I?" She must've made a face, because his got slightly red. "I'm sorry, this is just…it's hard, you know?" He shook his head. "I've _known_ this people for about a year, and I never got around to witnessing to anyone. I always figured I'd find the time. And now-" He sighed. "Now it's too late."

_Wow_ Elza thought. _What do I say to _that_?_ "Roy, it's not your fault. How could you have known-?"

"Isn't that the point?" Roy answered. "Aren't we supposed to share our faith _because_ we don't know when stuff like this is gonna happen? Well, I certainly screwed up here. And there's nothing I can do to fix that."

"Well, if that's the case, why are you dwelling on it?"  
>Roy looked at her as if he'd suggested he should stop changing his underwear. "Are you kidding? Jesus said he will come as a thief in the night, and we have to be ready for him to return-"<p>

"'And which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?'" Elza replied. "What good does beating yourself up about the past do you? Wouldn't it be better to focus on _now_, and promise yourself it won't ever happen again?"

Roy stared at her for a moment…which dragged out for a few more.

"Admit it; you know I'm right" Elza said, somewhat cocky. They'd had discussions like this before. Though Elza didn't like to admit it, and Roy didn't usually mention it, he tended to come out ahead in most of them.

"This _one_ time" Roy replied, shaking his head. "But that still doesn't make it okay, what I did."

Elza shot him a look. "You want to talk about not following the Great Commission?" she asked, her temper rising. "I've got a roommate in college. Her name's Yoko, she's studying computers. Super smart. I see her everyday. We share a frigging _dorm_. We're together all the time. And do you know, I've never mentioned God to her once? I don't know if she's alive or not right now, she's one of my best friends, and for all I know she's going to spend an eternity in agony because I never once brought up where I went every Sunday morning? So if you think you've got a right to feel guilty after hearing that, go right ahead."

Roy stood there a moment. "How 'bout this? We both agree that we screwed up, and if we make it out of this alive, we're never going to miss an opportunity to witness again, okay?"  
>Elza nodded. She'd meant what she'd said about Yoko. She such a sweet girl, but Elza doubted she'd made it. The University was pretty cramped, and it the zombies had gotten inside the campus, they would've seen it as a giant buffet. There was little hope her roommate was still alive. <em>Poor Yoko<em>. "Okay. But you'd better hold me to that. I'm gonna hold you to yours as well."  
>Amazingly, Roy smiled. "Sounds like a deal to me. Now Whaddya say we go find you a gun?"<p>

(ROY)

The Raven's Gate precinct had the advantage of having been built with the express intention of using it as a police station. The compact two-story ultra-modern building was laid out in a way conducive to that end: the motor pool was located at the back, the squad rooms were located toward the front, Captain Fredricks' office was on the top floor, while the armory was located at roughly the center of the building, where everyone could get to it in the event of a terrorist attack…or an outbreak of a zombie plague. Roy felt bad for Mat and the other cops stuck at the old art gallery; it was probably not the most strategic location in Raccoon City.

_Mat, I hope you're hanging in there_ he thought, before moving on. Elza was right. There was nothing to be gained by worrying about the others, if he was too dead to help them.

Captain Fredericks had been very careful about doling out weapons and ammo. Only a few civilians had made it to the station anyway, and only a handful of those had been able to shoot. Of _that_ small percentage, only two hadn't had their own guns, which meant Raven's Gate precinct was still very well stocked by the time it was overrun.

The armory was behind a pair of large steel doors, painted midnight black and bright yellow, making them look like the sides of an enormous yellow jacket. The doors were heavy enough that it took both Roy and Elza to force them open; fortunately, there was a key still in the electronic lock's reader. Roy didn't think they would've had much fun hunting that down.

Stepping into the only partially depleted armory was like Christmas. The room was roughly rectangular, lined on both sides with dark grey metal shelves stacked with multicolored boxes of ammunition. Hanging on the walls above those were various shoulder arms, mostly CAR-15s and MP-5s, but with a couple of Springfield 04 30-06 bolt action sniper rifles and five compact P90 submachine guns. Opposite those were shotguns: three SPAS-12s, a Saiga full-auto with its AR-15-like body, and a couple of Benelli M3s.

Roy collected two full 50-round boxes of 9mm ammo for the Beretta, along with an extra pair of magazines and a full fifteen-round clip. The battery on the burst-fire pistol's LAM had run down, and he decided to detach that, leaving it sitting on a shelf near a pair of Browning Hi Powers that had been in the process of repairs, and now would probably forever stay disassembled.

"Can you shoot?" he asked Elza, who was staring somewhat wide-eyed at the assorted firepower in the room.

She shook her head, the dirty blonde ponytail bound behind it bobbing in sympathy. "No. I've never even _touched_ a gun. But how hard can it be?"

_You have no idea_ was Roy's first thought, but he cast it aside. There was no reason to discourage her, and if they were going back out into the street, there was no way he could protect them both with only the Raffica between them. He needed her to be able to shoot.

He decided he was going to get her a pistol. Something with fairly low recoil, which immediately eliminated the M1911 he saw hanging from its trigger guard on a rack in the corner. A Browning or a Beretta 92 would probably be best, and he ultimately went with the Italian weapon. It and the Raffica were first cousins, after all, and could share magazines.

"This is a Beretta 92" he said, handing the silvery pistol to her. "It's a 9mm, just like mine, which means we can share ammo, although I'd suggest you take a hundred rounds at least. That way, if we get separated, you'll not run out of ammo."

Elza nodded, her eyes watching him intently. Roy found a part of him kind of liked that…_Not the time_ he thought irritably. He brushed the odd feeling aside, continuing his explanation.

"Take your pistol and hold it just like me" he said, demonstrating the correct grip on the Raffica; with the weapon's foregrip folded up, the two weapons were almost identical. He wrapped his right hand around the pistol first, then placed his left thumb against his right, the fingers of his left hand over his right. Elza studied him for a moment, the copied his stance.

"Good" he said, nodding. "Now, look at your right thumb. It should be within easy reach of a small button near the trigger. That's the magazine release. You'll want to hit that whenever you need to reload. Why don't you push it now?"

Elza did as instructed, then jumped a little when the pistol mag dropped free of the weapon. "You'll want to grab that before it drops" Roy explained. "It can be reused, after all. If you run out of magazines, then you'll have to load your bullets into the chamber one at a time, and at that point you're not much better off than an infantryman from the Revolutionary War."

Elza collected her dropped magazine, and Roy saw that it wasn't loaded. That was a safety feature, since most people didn't believe in keeping loaded guns around. Roy thought that was a little like having an empty fire extinguisher; full of wishful thinking and good intentions, but useless nonetheless.

"Here, hand me that" he said, before Elza had slid it back into the Beretta. "Now, watch." He picked a clip up off the table, slid it into the magazine, then pulled it back out. "You use a stripper clip to reload your magazine quickly. You can still put the bullets in one at a time, but the clip makes it a lot faster." He slid the empty one into his pocket along with a fully loaded one, then grabbed two more from the shelf and handed them to Elza, along with her recharged magazine. "You follow?"

Elza nodded, her ponytail again bobbing in unison with her head. "Yeah, I think so. Clip goes into magazine, magazine goes into gun, right?"

"Exactly. Want to learn another trick?"

Elza nodded.

"Okay, now watch this" said Roy, changing his grip on the 93, so that it was now aiming at the wall to his left. With his left hand he pulled the slide back, then used the slide lock to keep it in place, revealing the chamber and the bullet inside, gleaming brass in the artificial light. "You try."

Elza studied the position of Roy's hands for a moment, then mimicked it. She had a little trouble pulling the slide back, and almost locked her palm inside the chamber, but managed to get it locked back. As expected, the chamber of her weapon was empty.

Roy pulled a loose handgun round off the table and handed it to her. "Put this inside, just like the one in mine." Elza did as instructed. Roy slid the slide release back down, snapping the slide back into place. Unbidden, Elza did likewise.

"Your Beretta will normally hold fifteen rounds" Roy explained. "Because of the way the slide works, though, you can 'cheat,' and put one cartridge in the chamber, with fifteen in the magazine. It gives you an extra bullet. Pretty cool, right?"

Elza nodded slowly. She didn't seem particularly impressed, but was thoughtful instead.

Roy decided to move on. "Okay, now let's talk safety." He ran his index finger down the trigger guard. "When you're not ready to shoot, your finger should be here no matter what. That'll keep you from accidentally pulling the trigger. That's especially important if you're running." Then he reversed the handgun, showing her the safety. "You'll be able to flick this with your thumb. My Raffica has an extra setting because it fire three rounds at once, but yours just has two: Safe…and not. Keep it safed, but get used to the idea of making it ready to fire quickly. It may come in handy."

Elza ran her thumb across the safety a few times, clicking it between SAFE and whatever it was you called a weapon when it could fire. "Anything else?"

Roy selected a CAR-15 from the wall, connected a carrying strap, then slid it over his shoulder. He stuffed two of the bigger rifle magazines, a box of fifty 5.56mm rounds, and a clip into in his uniform's front pockets, then turned back around. "Yeah. Before we go out there, we need to teach you how to actually shoot. Come with me, I'm taking you to the range."

(ELZA)

The shooting range was done in the same odd grey/white color combination as the rest of the station. There were five booths, each separated by a narrow strip of wood, with a waist-high counter running along in front. At the opposite end were five paper targets, two traditional bull's-eyes, while three more were the dark silhouettes of a person.

Roy directed Elza to one of the multicolored circles. "We'll start with this" he said, positioning her a few inches away from the counter. "Remember your shooting stance?"

Elza thought for a minute, then gripped her handgun the way he'd showed her.

"Perfect" he said. "Now, flick off the safety." CLICK. "Okay, now aim using the notches on top of the barrel. The fin-looking blade on the tip should be between the two notches at the back. Got it?" Elza did as instructed, squinting down the handgun's sights. "Now, aim at the bull's eye. When you're ready, pull the trigger."

Elza leveled the handgun, aimed carefully, and fired.

There was a loud bang, the handgun's crack magnified by the large, empty room. The weapon kicked more than she'd thought it would, jerking up, the slide hoping back, a small brass cylinder flying into the air, then clattering to the floor with several high pitched PINGs.

Elza looked down range at the target. She hadn't been expecting a perfect bull's eye, but she must've hit it toward the center…

The target was totally unscathed. She'd missed it completely.

"Okay" said Roy, stepping forward and looking at the bull's eye. "Try this: when you sight in, right before you fire, take a deep breath. Let it out slowly, _then_ pull the trigger." He stepped back. "Try again. We've got plenty of ammo."

Elza resumed her firing position, careful to keep her stance exactly the way Roy had showed her. She knew they needed to get a move on, knew they were wasting time doing this, but appreciated the fact that Roy was taking the time in a life or death situation to ensure she could survive on her own. And some part of her wanted very badly to impress her friend. She wasn't sure where that came from, but it was suddenly a very driving need.

She squinted down the Beretta's iron sights again, her head cocked to the right, handgun at eye level. She breathed in through her nose, then exhaled slowly, her mouth barely open at all…just as her right index finger put a little more pressure on the trigger.

The report was still loud, but not as shocking to Elza this time, since she was expecting it. She managed to control the recoil better too, bringing the handgun back to shooting level almost immediately after it jumped.

As for her bullet…

This time, she managed to hit the target. Not only that, but her bullet was right on the border of the second and third concentric circles, between the red and black curves. It wasn't the bull's eye she'd been hoping for, but it was still definitely an improvement.

She looked over at Roy, who was nodding slowly. "Now you're getting' it" he said, the transparent outline of a smile on his face. "Keep trying. I'm gonna go grab some more ammo. Just stay here. When you feel like you're ready, move over to the man-shaped one."

Elza went back to shooting. She heard the door close behind her with a loud bang. She was able to get a tighter grouping (_cluster?_ she wasn't sure of the term) of her shots, the bullets making a strange collection of holes toward the center of her target, growing ever closer and closer. Eventually, she realized how to compensate for distance, aiming just a little over from where she wanted to hit…

"Yes!" she shouted when she fired a bullet that hit dead center. She shot two more times, putting each round less than an inch from her first.

Satisfied, she moved on to the person-shaped target. This one had rings with numbers radiating around from the chest. She assumed these were point values for competitions, but she didn't know enough about shooting to judge that. Besides, shooting zombies in the chest didn't do any good. You either had to shoot them in the head, or not at all.

Elza took a deep breath, sighted in, and released, her finger pulling the trigger. Her bullet struck the thick paper target half an inch above the spot where she'd aimed, right on the tip of the figure's skull. She'd forgotten to compensate for aiming, and had missed. Had she been in the real world, she'd have just put herself in mortal danger. As it was, she could take aim again, fire, and-

She dimly remembered hearing the door open behind her. She heard a footstep on the concrete floor, and at first she thought it was Roy. But the footstep was slow and deliberate, the same as the traffic cop who'd stumbled in front of her bike, suddenly looming large in its single yellow headlight. She'd almost hit him, fallen off her bike, and almost broken her left arm and leg in the process. She'd seen the officer staggering her way, thought he was coming to offer assistance, until he tried to bite her, and then she'd run, leaving her motorcycle behind.

Elza spun around frantically, raising the Beretta and aiming without thinking, her sights centered on the undead police officer behind her, specifically on his right eye. She pulled the trigger, and surprisingly, her bullet went right where she'd wanted it to. _Of course_ she realized detachedly. _He's closer than the targets_.

The cop's eyes had been light blue in life. In death, the thin filmy glazing made them look steel-gray, cold and unfeeling. The 9mm entered the one on her left, passing through what amounted to a small ball of puss, and popping it. It traveled through his head, into and out of his brain, before exploding out the back of his skull. Blood splattered across the ceiling of the shooting range. The zombie opened his mouth and let out a brief grunt, before his knees buckled and he crumpled to the concrete floor.

Elza stared at the broken body on the floor, then at the smoking gun in her hand. She repeated this cycle for a few minutes, before the door opened again.

Roy looked from the broken zombie on the floor to Elza, who was sitting slumped on the ground just in front of the shooting booth. He took a step forward and helped her up. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking and sounding genuinely concerned.

Elza nodded slowly. "Yeah…Yeah, I think so. I felt a little sick, but…I'm good."

Roy nodded, not looking like he believed her. "Okay. I think we're ready to go."

(LIZA)

She'd been sitting in the Senior English class for the past two hours, knees clutched tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them, her whole body shaking as she heard the moans and roars of the things surrounding her. She was alone, adrift helplessly in the sea of madness that had descended on Raccoon City and all who inhabited it.

She'd seen them inside the school campus already: most alone, but three had been stumbling together in a group. Somehow, they'd gotten inside the big wrought iron and stone fence surrounding the Raven's Gate Academy. She'd hoped they wouldn't be able to get in, since with them outside, she wouldn't be able to get out. Clearly she'd been wrong.

The police had been here earlier, but she hadn't seen them since a long spat of gunfire about ninety minutes ago. She'd picked a place to hide when the shooting started, and hadn't left since. The only time she'd thought about it was when she'd heard the clicking of sharp nails on the floor in the corridor outside, along with a loud inhuman screech. But whatever had been stalking outside had left, and she stayed put.

The first one she'd seen was a janitor, eating a girl from the junior high building, her eyes glassy and surprised, staring up at the ceiling. He'd looked up, his face all slick and bloody, and actually _smiled_, for all the world like he was happy to see her. Liza had turned and run as fast as she could, knowing something was very wrong. Over the sound of her flats striking the tile floor, she heard the sound of the janitor standing up, letting out a roar, and shambling after her.

She made it upstairs, then for some reason, had turned to watch the janitor stalking her. He had more trouble with the marble steps than she did, tripping and falling down them three separate times. On the fourth, he made it almost halfway to the top, before falling hard and rolling back down. His arm was bent all the way backwards by that point, and his left foot was turned about 165 degrees, but still he came. She got sick of watching at that point, and backed away. Before she was away from the railing, she saw the dead junior high student, or her identical twin, stumble into view and also began the monumental task of climbing forty feet of stairs.

Now she hid in the English class, desperately afraid she'd be found by one of the shambling, empty-eyed people stumbling around outside in the courtyard below. She'd seen someone else run into them, a boy a few years younger than her. He'd approached a girl whose name was apparently Irma, only to have her turn around and tear a large chunk out of his arm. Like sharks scenting blood, the others had descended on the hapless teenager. The sounds they made as they feasted were atrocious.

Liza's breath caught in her chest when she heard someone moving around in the hallway outside, rattling doors in the darkened corridor. To her horror, she realized she hadn't locked the one to her hiding place, and knew she was about to have a visitor. She leapt to her feet, her long white dress billowing around. She ran for the door, desperate to hold it closed, but her hip caught a desk, and she went sprawling on the floor, knocking two other desks over with the one she'd hit. She and the three desks hit the floor with a loud clatter and ensuring whoever (or whatever) was outside knew something was in the room.

The door opened, and Liza saw a figure standing there. A girl, about five-foot six, holding a long slender _something_ in one hand, her whole body shaking.

Liza held her breath, expecting the thing to go away. Instead, a nervous voice called out. "H-hello? Is someone there?"

Liza remembered the things down below had a hard time talking. And they couldn't climb stairs the last time she'd look. And they didn't carry baseball bats around, either.

"Y-yes" she called back, her voice shaking just as much as the other girl's. "There's just me. I've been hiding in here for ages." An hour and a half, but close enough…"Where have you been?"  
>"Outside" the other girl replied. "Do you mind if I join you?"<p>

Liza looked around the room, noting the flipped over desks. "Something probably heard that. I think we'll need to find a new hiding spot."  
>The other girl nodded, but before she could answer, there was another of the ear splitting screams. "C'mon!" the new girl shouted, gesturing with the baseball bat, and they ran.<p>

Liza knew she was running for her life from some unknown monster, trapped on the second floor of a building crawling with cannibals inside a city gone mad, but she felt happy nonetheless. After all, no matter how bad her nightmare had gotten, at least she wasn't alone anymore.


	18. Back in the Saddle

Chapter 16:

Back in the Saddle

(REBECCA)

"Hurry!" Mat shouted, knocking a zombie flat with a blast from his shotgun. He'd fired from the hip, and the pellets tore apart the man's abdomen and chest…but not his brain, meaning the zombie would be back up in a few minutes. Still, at that point he'd be someone else's problem.

The streets had been quiet when they entered Mat's apartment. Unfortunately, they'd made a lot of noise inside, and now it seemed his former neighbors were wondering out to see what all the hubbub was about.

The nice thing about zombies: they were slow. You could fake them out pretty easily too; just take a few steps in one direction, force them to commit to it, then turn and run around behind them. They had to rotate a full 180 degrees to turn; they hadn't mastered the art of walking sideways.

Unfortunately, when the zombies got too close together, their only choice was to fight. They'd tried shooting their way out a few times; guns were quicker and more permanent than any other means. There were two problems with that strategy, though.

First, zombies were attracted to noise. Therefore, the crack of Rebecca's MP-5 and the bang of Mat's shotgun was essentially the same thing as getting on a megaphone and shouting "FOOD HERE!" at the top of their lungs. In the end, it was somewhat counterproductive.

The other problem was something that had surprised Rebecca. She hadn't even held a gun since July, but she hadn't expected that to matter. Now she was learning she'd been sorely mistaken.

The MP-5 had a stock. It had extremely good iron sights. She could hold it with two hands, and much more steadily than with the Samurai Edge. Granted, she was running for her life and pumping adrenaline, but there was no reason she shouldn't be hitting her targets.

Except…she wasn't.

Almost every round she fired was missing completely. She managed to graze the forehead of three; she only put an end to one, and that was from a distance of less than five feet. And that was with the MP-5. Shoulder arms were by nature easier to fire; she shuddered to think about how bad she would be with her handgun.

It didn't help any that her hair kept getting in the way. She liked it at shoulder length…but it kept getting down in her eyes when she tried to sight in, and that was going to get her killed if she kept having to stop and push the strands out of her eyes.

She took a small degree of comfort in the fact that Mat was having almost as much trouble as she was. But he'd had more experience, and it showed. With his Browning, he was able to drop the undead in two shots, assuming he had time to aim. Often he didn't, so he was just wasting ammo.

"Man, we suck at this" he commented to Rebecca after they'd extricated themselves out of a particularly difficult mob. She was doing her best not to think about the cold hands grabbing at her bare neck, trying to take a bite…She shuddered.

"You okay?" he asked, noticing she was unnaturally quiet.

"Yeah. Just…this is a lot harder than last time."

"Yeah" Mat said, nodding slowly. "We both had a lot of help back then. I know I never could've made it out with the Umbrella soldiers. And you had Coen." He paused. "I-I never really got to say I was sorry about him. He may've been a prick, but he kept you alive. I owe him for that." He sighed. "Well, maybe it's for the best. This way, he can sort of go out like a hero."

Rebecca didn't answer. Mat probably took her silence for mourning; he clearly didn't suspect she'd lied to them about what had happened to the former marine, that he was (or had been about two weeks ago) alive and well in Raccoon City. She had no intention of telling them, either. She was still convinced letting Billy go had been the right thing to do, but in lying to her friends, she'd betrayed their trust. They were already having a hard time trusting her; she didn't want to think about what might happen if they learned the truth.

"We should probably get a move on" Mat said, taking a peek around the corner. The zombies in the street they'd just left had gone back to wondering aimlessly, occasionally bumping into one another. They'd already forgotten the prey that had just eluded them. Even their conversation wasn't drawing any notice; the zombies were too far gone to remember talking, or that it signified food.

"You're probably right" said Rebecca, checking the magazine in her SMG. She was down to fifteen rounds; half empty (_or full_ she thought, whimsy in her tired state). She was firing on semi-automatic; even so, she was going through bullets like Christmas had come early.

She started to reload, but Mat shook his head. "Wait. We can't keep shooting our way out. For every zombie we put down, two or three more wonder out into the street. It's a net zero. We need a new approach." He went on for a about a minute and a half.

"Why do you think that'll work?" Rebecca asked when he was finished.

"Because these things are stupid. They don't see so much as they hear. If we don't make noise, then not as many will come looking for a free meal."

"I don't know-"

Mat smiled, that oddly charismatic one he reserved for when he knew he was right, but couldn't convince her so. She was glad he didn't often take advantage of that look. She had a hard time saying no to it.

"Just stay behind me, then" he said. "If I get in over my head, you can bail me out." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I have faith in you. How 'bout a little in me?"

The right side of Rebecca's mouth quirked upward into a half smile of her own. "You've got me."

He nodded. "I know. And I'm glad."

Before Rebecca had time to ponder that, Mat had already hurried onto the next street, his shotgun held low across his chest.

The two nearest zombies turned in his direction, moving slowly toward him, their bodies twitching oddly with each drunken step. Both of these were badly damaged: one was missing an arm, while the other was just a mass of bloody bite marks.

Mat let them both get within a foot of him; easy grabbing distance. He swung the stock of the shotgun into the face of one, whipping the zombie's head around and spraying blood and broken teeth into the air. That one went down with a low grunt, bonelessly hitting the pavement.

Mat's swing had put the other zombie behind his back. That didn't seem to bother him; he just drove his elbow into the undead man's face, shattering the skull with a vicious jab that knocked the zombie off his feet.

"C'mon" he said evenly, motioning Rebecca forward, before turning back toward the crowd.

He kicked a zombie in the gut, propelling it into two others, knocking all three off their feet. He shoved another out of his way, then busted another's head open with his elbow again. He was getting a lot of use from his pads, Rebecca noticed.

And he was also getting way ahead of her. There was a small zombie-free bubble around Mat…and it was moving forward faster than she was.

A zombie staggered toward her. It had been a teenage girl; she couldn't possibly have been any older than Rebecca. Shorter hair, a darker red, and more revealing clothes (Rebecca's face changed to match her hair at the _thought_ of wearing a top that short), but the girl could've almost been her twin.

Part of the skin at her jaw had been torn away, revealing the musculature beneath. Rebecca started to mentally name off the muscles there, and had to stop herself and focus…but the flashback to her medical training gave her an idea.

The zombie girl was wearing a pair of denim shorts cut so high they were almost a diaper. Still, they gave Rebecca a look at her legs (which, despite being on a victim of the Tyrant virus, were toned enough to make her a little jealous). She studied the joint over the other girl's knee, estimated the right angle, and then slammed her fist down hard into the girl's calf from the side.

There was a pop as the zombie girl's leg dislocated at the knee. Unable to support her own weight, the zombie girl collapsed to the street. She continued to crawl after Rebecca, but the former STARS was already gone.

One of the zombies Mat had knocked over was in her path, but Rebecca took a moment to consider her next move, then kicked him in the head. There was a loud and sickening SNAP, and the zombie's neck broke. That sound, and the feeling of her foot forcing his head back, made Rebecca cringe inwardly, but it was better than getting eaten alive.

She shoved another zombie into the path of two more, creating an effective roadblock to any further progress, then sprinted after Mat, who was already around the corner.

"See?" he asked her, now that they were reasonably out of danger. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Mat's right elbow pad was slick with blood. His jacket was splattered with it, and there was a dark spot on his shoulder from the stock of his shotgun. They'd just waded into a mob of fifty man-eating cannibals who didn't feel pain, had no compassion, and would've liked nothing more than to get a little of either cop between their teeth, armed with nothing more than their fists. One bite would have been all it took to turn either of them into a ravenous zombie. Rebecca wasn't sure if Mat would be able to do what was necessary if she was infected. She'd already had to deal with the thought of him being dead once; even after Edward had reanimated on the _Ecliptic Express_, she wasn't sure she had it in her to kill her oldest friend.

All that, and Mat thought this was _easy_? "Are you out of your mind?" she asked, suddenly very irritated.

She was a little frightened by his answer, and the way his face went from joking to deadly serious. It was the same expression she'd seen when he contemplated murdering the man at his apartment. It was the same look she'd seen in Billy's eyes when they'd confronted the distorted reborn Doctor Marcus.

Then his face changed again. It went pale, his eyes a little wide. He'd pondered her question, and didn't like the answer he got.

"I don't know" he said quietly. And he sounded even more afraid than she was.


	19. Rolling Thunder

Chapter 17:

Rolling Thunder

(MICHAEL)

They left Hendricks where he'd fallen, as per orders. They had _not_ been ordered to close the dead rifleman's eyes, though, nor had then been told to collect his dog tags, M4, and M9. Had they been so instructed so, Michael suspected Command would suddenly find themselves with an entire company of AWOL Rangers.

Michael knew it was only his own reluctance to follow orders that had kept his men from mutinying after Hendricks had died. The rifleman had been popular with the troops, but it wouldn't have mattered if he'd been the meanest son of a bitch in the world, or a whiny little prick. All soldiers looked out for their dead, especially Rangers. Michael remembered with pride hearing how Rangers had risked their lives to recover dead comrades from a crashed Black Hawk in Somalia a few years earlier. It was such stories that made him realize how fortunate he was to lead such men.

But thoughts of Ranger pride aside, Michael knew he needed to focus on the task ahead. He'd already lost one man; he wasn't going to loose anymore.

The particular stretch of road they were patrolling had obviously seen street fighting. There was discarded brass everywhere: 9mm cases in ones and twos, 5.56's in small piles or strung along lines in threes and fours, as well as shotgun shells in all the colors of the rainbow. There was also blood, lots and lots of it, more spilled on the street than anyone could possibly walk away from. But…

"Where are the bodies?" asked Gerald, voicing the question foremost in Michael's own mind. Raccoon City had a population in the hundred thousands. Where was everybody?  
>Someone stepped cautiously out of a building, an M1911 clutched in one hand, a hunted look in his eyes. At the sight of him, all the nearby rifleman dropped to one knee, bringing their M4's to bear.<p>

"Whoa, whoa!" he shouted, raising both his hands, trying to look disarming. "Easy guys, don't shoot. I'm safe."

"Who are you?" Michael asked, lowering his carbine and stepping forward…but keeping the stock at his shoulder, just in case.

The stranger looked them over for a moment. "Rangers, eh? I was a leatherneck myself, but I won't be too picky at times like these. I heard your tank-Sheridan, right?-and thought I'd come check things out. Those things aren't known for driving armored vehicles around, after all."  
>Michael kept his eyes narrowed, watching the newcomer cautiously. The guy was a little shorter than him, not quite six feet tall. He had long, somewhat messy hair (at least by Michael's standards, which were more in keeping with the Army Ranger's idea of propriety). He wore a torn short-sleeved button-down shirt, with an intricate tattoo on his right arm. Still, despite his appearance, there was a certain…bearing to the man that suggested military training in the past.<p>

"Those bugs?" Martins, one of the rifleman, asked.

The supposed former Marine shook his head. "No, I mean the-what bugs?"

"Something killed one of my men earlier" Michael said. "Do you have any intel on the situation for us,-"

"Lieutenant, Lieutenant" the former Marine replied.

Michael was a little irritated by that; the Rangers didn't use different rank badges, and besides, there was no reason for this leatherneck not to see they'd held the same pay grade. For some reason, the other man didn't want them to know his name. That made him uneasy, but then, this whole operation was making him uneasy.

"Okay, _Lieutenant_" Michael said, trying to put as much irritation as he could into the rank, "what do you have to tell us?"

"Only that you're in much more trouble than you think" he replied, gesturing around the ruined buildings. "What did they tell you when they sent you in? That we were having riots?" He pointed to a sticky puddle on the sidewalk a few feet away from where he stood. There were bloody hand and footprints all around, as if a bunch of people had gathered around whoever had been injured…"Does this look like rioting to you?" he asked, his tone even.

Michael trusted this guy much less farther than he could throw him, but he still wanted to hear what he had to say…even if it was BS. "Okay, _Lieutenant_, what _is_ going on, then?"

The Marine took a deep breath. "There's been a viral outbreak in Raccoon City. I'm not sure what it does to the living, but once it kills you…you don't stay dead. It happens pretty fast, too. I've seen it occur in less than an hour. And when you get back up, you don't feel pain, or remorse, or weariness. All you feel is hunger. And you'll kill anyone you happen to come across."

"Bullshit" muttered one of the Rangers, and part of Michael was inclined to agree. Except.

Except Hendricks had been eaten alive by a bug the size of a golden retriever.

Except, there was an awful lot of blood on the streets of Raccoon City, as if people were being torn apart where they fell.

Except, Command was acting very oddly about this entire thing. They hadn't reacted much to his announcement that he'd had a KIA, and they hadn't given him much more specific orders than to secure an LZ near an old clock tower in this section of town. This whole thing stank, and he suspected there was more to it than the Marine was letting on.

"Can you shoot?" he asked.

The man nodded. "That's right, Army. I'm qualified at expert level with a pistol, and I can do some interesting things with a rifle if I get my hands on one. Why?"

Michael unslung Hendricks' M4 from his back, where he'd been carrying it up til now. "Here, take this. I'm down a man, and you look like you know what you're doing."

The Marine worked the charging handle on the M4, then squinted down the sights. He accepted the two magazines Michael passed over next, which he stuffed in his pocket. He shook his head when the Ranger offered him Hendricks' M9.

"No thanks, Army" he said, gesturing to the Colt in his waistband. "I've already got a handgun, and I like this one better. No offense to you folks or anything."

Michael shrugged, sliding the M9 back into place. He had his own preferred handgun, an Israeli Desert Eagle. He liked a gun he only had to fire once, even if it kicked like a drunken mule.

"Fair enough" he said, motioning the Marine (he didn't doubt the man as much now) to take up a position with the Rangers. Then gestured to _One Way Street_, and he and his men got moving.

They hadn't gone more than two blocks, though, before the street began to shake.

"Now what?" complained Martins, looking down at the asphalt as it began to buckle. "Earthquake?"  
>The Marine was standing next to him and shook his head. "I was at Camp Pendleton in California. This is no earthquake. It's more like something's-"<p>

They never got to learn what he thought was going on. A large, tumor-like bulge appeared in the middle of the street, causing it to buckle.

"Shit!" the Marine shouted, taking a step back.

Michael could communicate with the sergeant in charge of _One Way Street_ via radio, but it was kind of cumbersome. In any case, he didn't have time to call the Sheridan before the crew opened fire with the light tank's .30 coaxial gun, tearing into the street as the bulge rapidly approached.

There was a groan as the tumor passed under _One Way Street_, and then it was propelled into the air, on top of what Michael could only describe as a worm from hell.

The thing was massive, easily six feet across, with sickly colored flesh. It had a large, multi-fanged mouth, with four sharp grabbers around the edges, for taking hold of prey and forcing it into the worm's maw.

That gaping abyss wasn't enough to swallow _One Way Street_, so the monster cast the Sheridan aside, tossing it casually through the storefront of a building, where it landed upside down. It would be stuck there until they could call a retrieval vehicle to come get it.

Fortunately, _One Way Street_ had as escape hatch designed for just such an eventuality, and the Sheridan's crew began to scramble out. Two were clutching CAR-15s, while a third had a Mossberg. The sergeant was just carrying an M1911, and looked as though he knew he was out of his depth.

"What the fuck, sir?" he shouted, watching the worm swaying in the air, like an enormous palm tree. "What the fuck do we do about this?"

"We've gotta take this thing down!" Michael shouted back, raising the M4 and aiming down its sights. "Open fire!"

The Rangers, tank crew, and their adopted Marine all opened fire within seconds of each other, automatic weapons lashing across the worm's gross skin. The monster let out a roar of irritation and struck blindly at a building. Clearly it couldn't actually see what was going on.

It was just as clear their small arms weren't going to do much good against its thick hide. Michael watched Martins switch to his underslung 40mm grenade launcher and fire at the thing's middle. There was a loud bang, a puff of yellow colored blood, and the monster let out a cry of rage as part of its protective skin was blasted away.

"Yeah, bitch!" shouted Martins, racking open his launcher, dropping the spent shell to the street while he loaded a fresh.

Maybe the worm heard him shout. Maybe it just remembered where the shot had come from. But to Michael, it didn't seem as though the digger noticed the grenadier until his shell struck the ground with a loud PING.

Then, it swung in Martins' direction, mouth open wide as it plunged toward him. The Ranger never had a chance to run. He fired his M4 on full automatic from the hip into the thing's gaping mouth, but did nothing to slow the digger as it swallowed him whole, wriggling its way back under the street.

It resurfaced a few seconds later, writhing its way up like a tiller, shattering the street as it killed one of the tank crew, devouring him as it continued to twist across the street.

"Fall back" shouted Michael, gesturing to his men. He noticed the Marine was close to him, as if he had information to impart.

"What is it?" he demanded tersely; now was _not_ the time.

"Air support, Army" the Marine replied. "The only way to kill these things is to shoot them in the head, and we're not gonna do that with anything less than a rocket. Can you call in an Apache or something?"

Michael smiled despite the situation, remembering his briefing. "Better" he said, slinging his M4 and pulling out his radio as he ran.

"COMMAND, this is ROMERO 4. _One Way Street _is down, and we need air support, over!"

"Understood, ROMERO. This is COMMAND. We have air assets in the area. What do you need? Over."

Michael looked over at the Marine. They had both made it to cover in a fire blasted building, where they could see the digger hunting the soldiers through the streets. Most of his men had made it to cover, though, and had the good sense to hold still and not make noise.

"Bring the whole world down on him" the Marine said simply.

"COMMAND, request a gun run from A-10 Thunderbolt, over."

"Understood, ROMERO. We'll vector one in. Please have target marked with green smoke. Over."

"Solid copy, COMMAND" Michael said, pulling one of his smoke grenades off his bandolier. He pulled the pin, then tossed it out into the street. He saw Gerald do the same at the opposite end, marking the entire stretch of road as a target. "Target marked, COMMAND. We'll keep our heads down, but be advised this will be danger close, over."

"Roger that, ROMERO. We'll alert the pilot. Out."

The Ranger and the Marine spent several tense moments waiting for the telltale sound of the A-10's approach. Nicknamed the Warthog, the anti-tank fighter made a noise not far removed from that of an enormous lawn mower.

At last, they heard the distant grumble of the fighter's engine.

"ROMERO, this is TOP. I see your smoke, and-Jesus! I assume the target is the giant worm down on the street, over?"

"TOP, this is ROMERO, and you're correct" said Michael, standing a little to try and catch a glimpse of the Warthog, but his vision was obstructed by all the smoke. "It's good to hear from you, over."

"Okay, ROMERO, I suggest y'all hunker down" said TOP. "I'm starting my run. It's gonna get loud. Out."

Michael had enough time to duck in cover behind a piece of broken wall before a God Almighty roar filled his ears, the sound one would've expected to accompany someone ripping through God's bed sheets. He heard the roar of the A-10 as it swooped down low, as well as the sound of its powerful 30mm rotary gun tore into the street, sending fragments in all directions. He thought heard a scream as one of those sharp pieces of metal found a Ranger, but he couldn't be sure.

He thought he heard screaming from closer to, and realized it was him. He couldn't look over at the Marine, but he suspected the leatherneck officer wasn't fairing much better. Close support air power could have that affect.

After the longest five seconds of his life, Michael looked out into the street. The pavement had been torn up by the Warthog and the digger trying to evade it, making it impassable even for _One Way Street_. They'd have to leave the tank here; the recovery vehicle wouldn't be able to reach it, and even then, it couldn't maneuver the craggy surface of the road.

The street may have been torn to pieces, but there was no sign of the worm. Michael swore silently, reaching for his radio. "TOP, this is ROMERO, and we do not, repeat _not_, have a confirmed kill. Requesting another pass, over."

"Understood, ROMERO. Bastard's tricky. I'll hit 'im again. Keep your heads down. Out."

This time Michael felt a piece of broken asphalt ricochet off his helmet, but he kept his head down regardless. Even when he heard a rumble and a scream from the worm, he didn't look up until it was all over.

When he did, his first thought was that someone had dropped a thousand pound bomb full of yellow paint on this particular section of Raccoon City. Then he saw what was left of the worm, and his mind filled in the blanks.

It must've been hiding when the first gun run had taken place, but apparently TOP had seen wherever it had stashed itself, and hammered that portion particularly hard. The digger had tried to escape, but there was no running from a 30mm rotary gun, and the A-10 had splattered the monster all over the buildings. Michael was just glad he wasn't soaked with digger gore. That would've massively sucked.

"Good kill, good kill, TOP" he said into the radio. "Target is down. Thanks for the assist, over."

"Bullshit!" the pilot retorted, good naturedly. "That was _all_ me. Well, if you've got any other monstrosities for me to take down, just give a holler. Out."

Michael smiled, shaking his head as he replaced the radio on his belt. _Some people_…"What did I tell you? Better than an Apache, don't you-?" He turned, to see the building was empty.

The Marine was gone. And he'd taken Hendrick's carbine with him.

"Shit." There wasn't much more to say.

**Okay, I've had it with this. I will not be posting any more updates to this story until I have at least two more reviews. If I don't have any more reviews by the end of the month (November), then I'm not going to update this story again. It takes less than five minutes to post a review. If you have time to read the story, then logically you have time to post a review too. I shouldn't consistently have to keep begging for these. So, I'm done. There will be no more updates until I get some reviews. Well, thanks for reading, and if I don't post anything else, it's been fun.**

**-Godzillafan93**


	20. Life on the Street

Chapter 18:

Life on the Street

(ROY)

Elza stood guard while he bolted the shattered precinct doors closed. If someone _really_ wanted to get inside, there wouldn't be anything they could do about it; all the same, he didn't like the idea of _not_ locking them before they left. It just didn't seem right, somehow.

"Ready?" he asked, turning around as soon as he was finished.

Elza nodded. "Yeah. I'm ready to get out of here."

They headed into the burned streets of Raven's Gate, eyes darting everywhere at once, some sixth sense warning them that danger lurked in the shadows. Roy heard a distant clicking sound down one dark alley, as if large claws were striking the concrete path. They steered well clear.

They tried not to fire their weapons whenever possible. It was easy enough to avoid larger groups of the infected, since they tended to wander aimlessly in the middle of the street and moan loudly. Roy _did_ notice a few of the apparently dead bodies on the street tracked them as they passed by, the heads turning soundlessly. He and Elza stayed well away from those, too.

There was a radius of about three blocks around the Raven's Gate precinct where signs of resistance were evident. Bodies lay in the street, torn apart by automatic weapons fire, or blasted up close by twelve-gauge shotguns. Shell casings littered the ground, and there were a few reanimated police officers wandering around, their eyes glazed over in death.

Once they got about four blocks away from the station, though, it became obvious were police efforts had ended and Raccoon City had been forced to fend for itself. The fatal wounds on the zombies changed from bullets to blunt force trauma and stabbing, and the fighting itself was clearly much less effective. There were more zombies on the edges of the imaginary perimeter, although they were slowly closing in on the bubble around the Raven's Gate precinct. Soon this area would be just as infested as anywhere else in the city.

The zombies out here tended to be more gruesome, too. Roy saw one who had the better part of a _saber_ rammed through his chest. Another's jaw hung slackly open, having been dislocated by some sort of club. Many were soaked in blood, mostly on their hands and faces, but some had gore up past their elbows, as if they'd been that deeply inside a carcass.

Some of these seemed to be more vital. Roy suspected some biologist, or virologist, or someone else with -ist at the end of their title, would find that zombies were more dangerous after they'd consumed flesh. It was the only reason he could think of for them to keep going after the living; he couldn't imagine the dead actually needing to eat, after all.

Regardless of reason, those bloodied zombies were more alert than the others. Their eyes darted in all directions, and they moved with a more deliberate stride,. Worse, some of them seemed to have caught on that the police officer and the girl in the biking outfit weren't dead...and further, that they might just taste good.

"Elza?" Roy asked quietly, careful not to show the tension in his voice, keeping watch out of the corner of his eye. One of the bloody zombies had stopped walking, instead standing completely still in the middle of the road, his eyes locked on them, as if trying to figure out what exactly they were.

"Yeah?" she answered, and Roy detected a little fear in her voice. _She's__scared,__and__she__should__be_ he realized.

"Get ready to run" he told her, bringing the CAR-15 he'd taken from the station up to his shoulder.

"Roy?" Elza asked, her voice cracking, raising a little. More zombies had stopped, joining the first one, as if unsure what he was staring at.

"Now!" Roy shouted, squeezing the trigger on the carbine. His first shot took the original curious zombie through the brain, dropping him to the street in a small pool of blood. Roy fired four more times, short bursts that dropped two more in quick succession. But he had the horde's attention now, and they staggered forward, the ones in front nearly falling on their faces in the sudden rush to get to him.

Roy turned and ran, seeing that Elza had already taken off as soon as he fired, and was already halfway to the next intersection, and hurried to keep up. Now that he'd kicked the hornet's nest, he didn't want to get separated.

There was a collective groan from behind them as the mass of infected stumbled along. More zombies shambled out of broken storefronts, crawled out from under parked cars, or staggered out of alleys. The cries of the original zombies, coupled with the bark of Roy's CAR-15, was drawing every infected in the area down on them.

_In__hindsight,__this__probably__wasn't__my__best__idea_ he decided. At the time, he'd figured it would be easier to shoot down the one genuinely intelligent zombie in the crowd, then shake off the rest. Now it was clear that was going to be harder than it sounded.

Elza spun around to see if he was still behind her. He saw her eyes widen when she saw the entourage they'd collected during their escape. Then she started to raise her handgun and start shooting.

He grabbed her hand and forced it down. "There's no time!" he shouted. "We've gotta move!"

Roy accessed the map of Raven's Gate he kept stored in his head for when he was on patrol. If he remembered correctly..."Go left!" he shouted, sprinting down a side street, almost bent vertically as he changed directions. He heard the sound of Elza's boots as she followed him, along with her slightly panicked breathing.

Up ahead, a strange, reverse triangle shape loomed out of the smokey dark sky. "That way!" he shouted to Elza, sprinting toward the foot bridge.

A branch of the Arklay River flowed between the Raven's Gate and St. Michael's districts. About seven feet wide, the green-painted mesh bridge had been built to offer pedestrians an alternative to taking their lives into their own hands by crossing the river on the main vehicle bridge whenever they wanted to travel from one side to the other. _That_bridge was over a hundred years old, having been built before Umbrella's foundation, back when Raccoon City relied heavily upon river commerce to stay alive. There was a large hinge at either side, where the bridge could be raised to allow boats to sail underneath. For the most part, the only times it was ever raised were at about eleven in the morning and nine at nine, when the small river cruiser passed by, allowing tourists to gawk at the city.

The pedestrian bridge was narrow enough that it made a natural choke point. The RPD had planned to use it as an easy way to limit traffic from one side to the other, since they'd have an easier time screening the infected from the not when they had only three or four people to check, rather than fifty.

Clearly, whatever madness had broken out in Raven's Gate, it had already spread to the other side of the river.

Roy could see abandoned SWAT vans, along with the new, dark blue colored armored cars used by the Select Police Force. There were a few figures stumbling around in the wreckage too, although from this distance he couldn't tell who they were...or who they'd been in life.

The larger, vehicle-supporting bridge was blocked by a pair of squad cars, their open doors making them look like the frilled lizards from _Jurassic__Park_. There was a small pile of bodies stretched out in front of the hood of one car, where the officers who'd driven them up had apparently tried to make a stand against the infected. The door of the other had been shoved closed, and there was blood on the ground behind it. Roy could see something moving around past the two abandoned police cars, but wasn't especially interested in finding out what it was.

"This way" he told Elza, directing her toward the narrow pedestrian bridge. The zombie mob that had followed them for the past fifteen minutes was still a long way off, but hadn't given up. Roy wondered if the few seemingly intelligent undead were urging them on, or if they were all getting smarter. Neither was a pleasant idea.

There were bodies stretched out on the bridge. Apparently rifleman on the far side of the river had been shooting down zombies as they tried to cross. Roy didn't know what had happened to those police officers; there was no trace of them now. He hoped they'd pulled back when the main bridge was overrun. The only alternative was that they'd been killed where they stood.

Roy noticed one of the zombies was playing possum, following them with its head as they slowly walked toward it. Casually he slung the carbine, then pulled the Raffica out of its holster and stepped toward it. He could see the zombie's arms tensing as it prepared to stand up, ready to take a bite out of his leg. Calmly he shot it through the head, splattering blood on the metal plating of the bridge.

"What are you doing?" Elza shouted, as five similar zombies suddenly stood up, flexing their fingers slightly, swaying from side to side as they tried to figure out what it was they were supposed to do. Across the river, some of the zombies prowling the wrecked barricade looked up, vaguely remembering what gunfire was.

"C'mon!" he shouted back, as the zombies who'd followed them begun to stumble drunkenly toward the bridge. "We've got to get out of here, before they surround us!"

He shot down one, a man with a truly enormous mustache, who lunged for him with an open mouth. Then he switched to the carbine and opened fire on the zombies farther down the bridge, trying to clear them a space to escape. He heard Elza open fire behind him with the Beretta, at the zombies coming from the other side.

Roy looked to his right, over at the other bridge. A few zombies had followed them onto the narrow one reserved for pedestrians, but more were stumbling across the wider bridge, where they didn't get jammed together and clog the way. And there were more following them than Roy had first thought. A lot more.

Apparently the sounds of gunfire in the empty city had echoed all over Raven's Gate. There were at least a hundred zombies in sight, and the stream didn't show any signs of ending. If was as if most of the infected in the district had chosen to follow them.

And that meant they were about to descend on St. Michael's.

"God help us" Roy muttered quietly, before turning to Elza. "When we get off the bridge, I want you to run as fast as you can. Get as far from here as possible. Don't stop, and don't look back."

"What about you?" she asked, managing to slide a new magazine into her handgun after two false attempts.

Roy pointed to the skinny brick tower next jutting over the river. "I'm going to raise the bridge. That'll keep most of those things from following us."

"But why do I have to go ahead?" she asked, sounding a little confused.

"Because no matter how fast I raise that bridge, there will still be at least four or five dozen of those things over here with us, and they'll all be hungry. I don't expect to be able to leave the control room."

"Maybe not alone" Elza replied. "But if we're together, we'll figure something out."  
>Roy stared at her for a minute. "Elza..." He shook his head. "Fine. Now, let's get a move on. There isn't much time left."<p>

There was a zombie waiting at the edge of the bridge, apparently planning to pounce on them as they ran past. He lunged at Roy, only to meet the stock of the CAR-15 in the jaw, shattering teeth and sending him staggering backwards. Roy didn't waste time finishing him off, instead, dashing for the bridge controls, Elza only a few steps ahead of him.

The door, as luck would have it, was padlocked. Roy took a step back, then shot it with the carbine, dropping the metal lock to the ground. Elza jerked the door open, and they were inside.

The interior of the bridge control room had apparently been intended as a tourist stop-off. There were paintings hanging on the dark brick walls, showing the history of the city, from the settling of the Abernathy family up in the mountains, to the foundation of Umbrella by a young local scientist named James Marcus and two of his college friends, to the present day.

There was a small staircase up against one wall, narrow enough that only one person could use it at a time. Roy noted that, figuring it would be a handy choke point for if and when the zombies got inside. He could hear them outside pounding on the door, apparently not smart enough to realize it swung out rather than in. The door was made of thick pine, reinforced with metal bars, and he suspected it would last for a while.

The bridge controls were upstairs, a series of multicolored interconnecting gears. Roy hurried over to see Elza already checking them out, trying to discern how they worked.

"It's some sort of puzzle" she told him, sounding a little irritated. "Apparently there's a pattern to how you turn them. I assume it has something to do with the colors, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is."

None of the gears were flush with the device; it looked like they needed to be pushed in in a specific order. Roy studied that for a moment, then pushed a yellow one at random. It wouldn't enter the mechanism. Next he tried an orange one, then a blue one. On his last attempt, he got results. The cog slid into place with a dull THUNK.

"I think I understand now" he told Elza. "The gears are arranged in two groups: primary and secondary colors. We need to push them into place in those groups."

"Okay, I'll leave it to you" Elza replied. "Art was never my strong suit."

Roy shrugged. "Me neither. But my big sister's an artist, so I learned some of this from her."

He pressed the next two primary gears, red and yellow, into place. There were two more clicks, as well as a small ticking noise from inside the mechanism. It sounded like the motor to raise the bridge was warming up.

Next he pushed in the gears colored orange, green, and purple. There was a resounding CLACK from the device, and he heard something began to tick outside, like a giant grandfather clock. "I've got it!" he shouted to Elza. "Now let's get out of here."

There were still zombies pounding on the door down below. Roy started to ready his carbine, but Elza shook her head. "No, let me get this."

She moved to the door, turning the handle slightly, so the basic closing mechanism was no longer engaged. Then she braced her foot against the wooden panels and kicked out.

Roy heard the door hit the zombies outside with a muted thud. It had slammed into a group of about fifteen who'd clustered around it, scattering them in all directions. One was on his knees directly in front of Elza. She spun around, putting lots of momentum into her left leg, which she used to kick him in the face. The kneeling zombie actually got airborne, dropping down on two others who were trying to crawl back to their feet.

"Where did you learn that?" Roy asked, as he and Elza dashed past the still disoriented zombies.

"I told you my dad was paranoid, right?" Roy nodded. "Well, he insisted I learn some form of martial arts before I could move up here for college. I made a blue belt in karate."

"Impressive" Roy answered. Then a horrific grinding noise stopped them both in their tracks.

The bridge had slowly begun to raise. Those zombies who had already reached the halfway point lost balance and fell to their side of the river, leaving bloody tracks on the bridge as their bodies struck the abrasive concrete. Those on the other side fell backward into their fellows, causing a massive pile of zombies to form at the other end.

Unfortunately for those infected, though, the two police cars had also been parked on their side of the rising platform. Their brakes were locked, but there was no way they'd be able to stay in place on the nearly vertical bridge.

And they didn't. The groan was the sounds of the cars' brakes giving way as they slid down the bridge...directly on top of the writhing mass of zombies below. There was a sickening crunch as the two squad cars flattened the struggling infected.

There were still zombies on their side of the bridge, though. Roy took Elza's arm. "C'mon" he said. "It's time to go."

And they ran.

**So, thanks to thanks to RogueCanuck, Jammer69ner, and helljumper09, this story will continue. Thanks for reviewing, and everyone else, this doesn't mean you're off the hook. I still want reviews. I need to know what you actually think of my story. I know people are reading this, but if you don't review, I have no idea what you like or don't like, and quite frankly it drives me crazy. So please, please, _please_ review!**

**And happy Thanksgiving, all my readers on this side of the Atlantic!**

**-Godzillafan93**


	21. For Whom the Bell Tolls

Chapter 19:

For Whom the Bell Tolls

(MICHAEL)

"COMMAND, this is ROMERO 4, and we have reached our objective. Over" Michael said into the small tactical radio. With those words, he felt as if some of the weight on his shoulders was lifted. Now that the dropzone at the church was secured, it would only be a matter of waiting until they were relieved by whatever other forces the US government decided to drop into Raccoon City. He'd still need to write a Deeply Regret letter to Hendricks' and Martins' families, but that was far enough away that he didn't have to think about it. And despite everything that had gone wrong with the mission, he'd only lost two men. All things considered, it could have been worse.

"Understood ROMERO. Hold position and await the package. Out." The voice at the other end of the line had changed, from the cheerful woman it had been to what sounded like someone from a 40's Chicago gangster movie. _And__ what __package?_

"COMMAND, could you repeat that please?" Michael asked the radio, but got no response. He turned to his men. "Alright guys, let's dig in and get comfortable. Looks like we have to wait a little while longer."

The Rangers took that news with a somewhat subdued reaction, simply moving off in twos and threes to secure the spacious cathedral grounds. Michael caught the attention of Marcus Gibbons, his team's sniper. "Get up in that bell tower and keep an eye out for anything unfriendly."

The sniper nodded, pulling the bolt on his M24 rifle. "Yes sir!"

Michael found himself with down time, for the first time in several hours. He used it to check up on his men, making sure they had full magazines in their rifles, grenades, and were in a good firing position. He only had one AT4 at his disposal, but he situated that opposite Delarosa and his SAW.

Overhead, the St. Michael's Cathedral Clock Tower chimed eleven o'clock. Michael shivered. That sound had always given him the creeps...

His radio buzzed. "ROMERO 4 here, over" he said, holding it up to his ear.

The message on the other end was short and to the point. "Package inbound."

"Package-?" Michael started to ask, before a high-pitched whine filled their ears.

"Down!" he shouted, throwing himself flat in the courtyard, a second before something enormous slammed into the ground. Shrapnel from its landing flew in all directions, and he heard screams from at least one person who'd managed to catch some with his body.

Michael climbed to his feet and took in the situation. There was smoke rising from one end of the corner, near where he'd ordered the SAW. He couldn't tell what was going on there, and there were other things he needed to see to. He hoped Delarosa was okay; he just didn't have time to find out.

Fletcher, one of his riflemen, was down, clutching his leg near whatever it was COMMAND had dropped on them, a long, slender piece of metal through his leg.

"Corporal Lucas, see to that man!" he shouted, pointing to the injured soldier. Lucas shook his head a moment, trying to regain his focus, then hurried over to Fletcher.

"Easy, easy" he said soothingly, trying to pull the wounded man's hands away from the wound. "Hold still, I'm trying to help you."

Fletcher wasn't listening. His eyes just kept drifting to the smokey crater from the package's insertion. Michael could make out a dim shape in the slowly dissipating cloud.

"What the fuck, sir?" demanded one of the riflemen.

That was something Michael couldn't say to command. "COMMAND, this is ROMERO 4, and you dropped the package directly on top of us. We've taken casualties. What are our orders, and when can we expect extraction, over?"

There was no answer.

Michael turned back to look at the package. It was tall, at least ten feet, and metal, shaped like a capsule. As the smoke slowly cleared away, he could begin to make out an emblem on its outer surface.

"Umbrella?" he muttered. "What-?"

There was a hiss, and the package began to open. Michael heard someone pull the charging lever on their M4, and didn't reprimand them. Something was very wrong about this whole thing.

"Oh God" Fletcher said blearily, Lucas having stuck him with a syringe of morphine. He pointed vaguely in front of him. "What's that?"

Lucas didn't look up. "Nothin' to worry about, soldier. Just let me fix you up-"

Suddenly, there was a low growl from inside the capsule. Michael could see something moving around in the darkness. Something big. Something distinctly not human.

Michael felt something growing inside his gut as the large, broad-shouldered humanoid shrugged its way out of the capsule. Fear.

"Open fire!" he shouted, just as he heard Lucas yell "Oh shit!" and reach for his sidearm.

The monster from the package lunged forward before it had cleared its holster, driving a large, booted foot into Lucas's body, crushing him flat. Fletcher had just enough time to scream before the creature turned and broke every bone in his body with a vicious backhanded swipe.

Bullets slammed into the monster's hideous body, tearing large holes in the trench coat-like covering it wore. It turned its horrible, decayed face toward the balcony where Gibbons had taken up a position. With its left hand it leveled a massive minigun, spooling up the barrels with a loud ringing noise.

"Gibbons, get out of there!" Michael shouted to the sniper. He never saw if the other man heard. He never had the chance to move before the minigun ripped into the antique masonry, tearing it and the sniper it concealed apart with heavy caliber bullets.

The monster turned its attention to the other Rangers, many of whom were still standing in the open. With a wordless growl, it opened fire, tearing two riflemen to pieces with a long burst from the minigun.

"Get down!" Michael shouted, bringing the M4 to his shoulder and firing a long burst of his own into the creature's body. His bullets did little to distract it, though, as it scattered the Rangers with its automatic weapon, ripping them apart.

A round from the AT4 slammed into it from behind, but the only result of the anti-tank weapon's discharge was a loud below from the creature, which then spun around and shot up the planter the anti-tank soldier had been hiding behind. Michael heard a pained cry and saw blood splatter on the wall behind it.

There had to be a way to take this thing down. Michael pulled the radio off his belt, switching automatically to the frequency he knew was being used by the air units in the area. "TOP, this is ROMERO 4. Please respond, over."

Michael had enough time to dash to cover, firing his M4 blindly over the planter he hid behind, keeping the radio between his cheek and shoulder like it was an oversized cell phone.  
>"ROMERO 4, this is TOP. What can I do for you, over?"<p>

Michael heard another Ranger bite it, but didn't recognize the sound of whoever it had been. "TOP, we're inside a church, and need of some more air support. I can mark the target with green smoke. Can you take this thing down for us? Over."

"Sure thing, ROMERO. Got another giant worm for me to kill? Over."

"Negative TOP, the target is a large...juggernaut. At least eight feet tall, with some sort of minigun. Thing's cutting us to pieces; can you take it down for us? Over."

"Solid copy, ROMERO 4. Just mark the target and I'll put the fear of God in him. TOP out."

Michael pulled another smoke grenade off his bandolier, then turned when he heard something crunch behind him. "Oh shit-"

The monster reached down and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him into the air. Michael dropped the M4 and grabbed at its massive hand. With his left thumb, he pulled loose the pin on the smoke grenade, allowing the green gas inside to escape. From the corner of his eye he saw someone hurrying away, through the big wrought iron gate of the cathedral. _Good,__at__least__one__person__made__it__away._ He slid his right hand down to his holster, where he drew the Desert Eagle.

"Hello, ugly" he said through gritted teeth, glaring into the monster's single, cataract covered eye. "You may have killed my Rangers, but you aren't going to make it out of here either."

He dropped the grenade, at the same time jerking the Deagle up to fire at the thing's head. The monster growled and tightened its grip on his neck. Michael heard a loud snapping noise...then nothing more.

(NEMESIS)

Something was approaching the augmented Tyrant. Something airborne and decidedly hostile. The monster tossed aside the body of what its internal computer designated Waverly, Michael J., First Lieutenant, US Army Rangers, before squinting up into the sky, its mechanically enhanced eyes cutting through the dense smoke over Raccoon City to give it a better picture of the new threat.

It was an aircraft. The Tyrant's brain recognized it as an A-10 Thunderbolt, an American anti-tank fighter, designed for busting ground-based armor in support of infantry. The craft was designed for ground support, and so would usually have been accompanied by air-superiority fighters, but the US Air Force had complete mastery of the skies over Raccoon City, so there was no reason for it not to fly alone. The Tyrant known by the name of the project that had created it, NEMESIS, didn't care one way or the other. It wasn't programmed that way.

NEMESIS turned back to the capsule on which it had been inserted into Raccoon City. This particular model, designed primarily for the transport of its weaker brethren Tyrants, had been specially modified to contain a NEMESIS T-type and all its assorted weaponry. In addition to the minigun, the pod also contained a modified surface-to-surface/surface-to-air rocket launcher. This it removed from its special rack, then slid home nine high-explosive rockets. The NEMESIS shouldered the launcher, then pumped it in the air once, sliding the first shell into place.

The A-10 had spotted it, NEMESIS immediately realized. Probably a result of the smoke grenade dropped by the late Waverly, Michael J. No matter. The Tyrant could fire first. Besides, worry wasn't its programming either.

It raised the launcher, a hybrid of the Stinger and Javelin families, its internal computer calculating the correct angle for fire. Then the monster growled, squeezing the trigger on the launcher's single oversize handle.

There was a WHOOSH! as the rocket left the tube, a streak of white smoke making a trail behind it. The A-10 pilot must've seen the heat signature from the rocket on his thermal scope, because the aircraft tried to jink out of the way. A moment later the pilot probably realized the futility of that action, because the Tyrant saw the fighter's cockpit start to open, its occupant apparently deciding to escape his plane and take his chances in Raccoon City.

Before he had the chance to bale out, however, the rocket slammed into the A-10's large, double-turbined engine. A second later, the large aircraft was consumed in a massive fireball. Pieces of the aircraft fell from the sky, destroying buildings in the already burning city below.

The NEMESIS turned away from the fireball in the sky, casually racking a new round into its rocket launcher. Slowly it made its way out of the church yard. Eliminating the Ranger team had only been a secondary objective, albeit one immediately accomplishable. Its primary objective waited in the city outside the church walls.

(MONOCLE)

"Thank you for your help, Captain" the man said to the unseeing eyes of the dead American Army officer, placing her headset next to her slumped body. The agent pushed his chair in at the console, then turned to his associate.

"Come, Mr. Venk" the Umbrella operative known only as MONOCLE said, gesturing to the mountain-like man in the grey trench coat behind him. "Our work hear is finished."

Venk grunted, tossing aside the two M4s he'd taken from a pair of National Guardsmen who wouldn't need them anymore. One would never have guessed by looking at his face that the nearly seven foot tall giant had, not ten minutes earlier, held one of the automatic carbines in each hand while he massacred the National Guard communications post. Mr. Venk was not a man given to much facial expression.

The two made an odd pair: Venk, the huge, broad-shouldered giant with his lantern jaw, dark colored trench coat and bowler, with his impassive granite-like features; MONOCLE, with his short stature, bitter-Chicago accent, hawk-like features (especially his sharp, pointed nose), fur coat, floppy fedora, and the large monocle which had given him his code-name. Despite the obvious disparity in their appearance, the two were one of Umbrella's most effective hunter-killer teams.

And now another job was done. MONOCLE was confident in the abilities of himself and Mr. Venk; he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he and his partner were at the top of their respective games. All the same, he was glad his particular assignment had on this side of the Arklay mountains. Unlike the UBCS supervisors, the Umbrella Black Teams, or the female agent known only as RED, he didn't have to go into Raccoon City itself.

That was perfectly fine with him. Some things were just too much to take. Even for a hardened killer.


	22. Gate Crashing

Chapter 20:

Gate Crashing

(MAT)

The school was encompassed in a stone fence, at least seven feet high and probably thick enough to stop a rocket propelled grenade. Mat shook his head in disgust. He'd never been really _poor_ growing up, and he didn't begrudge the wealthy their money; all the same, he got tired of people flaunting their monetary surplus just because they could. _It's__like__they're__afraid__the__world__is__going__to__get__inside__and__hurt__their__precious__little__dears_ he thought disgustedly. Mat knew he wasn't the smartest person around (that was probably Rebecca), but he wasn't stupid either, and public school had been enough for him. He had yet to figure out why so many people didn't feel the same way.

"That's gonna be fun to get through" Rebecca said, pointing at the Raven's Gate Academy, which Mat was beginning to think looked more like the Waco compound than a place of learning. "What do you think? Wanna try giving me a boost over, then let me run around and open the-Mat?"

Mat could hear something, dimly at first, but growing rapidly in proximity and volume. "Down!" he shouted, throwing himself at Rebecca and knocking her off her feet, pulling her to the side only a few seconds before flaming pieces of something slammed into the street where they'd been standing. The burning wreckage bounced back into the air, then slammed into the school wall, knocking a hole roughly three feet wide in one section. Other pieces of what had to have been a plane rained down on the school yard, catching trees on fire and turning part of what must've been the main academic wing into rubble.

Mat sat up, panting heavily, shaking his head. He shifted, letting Rebecca sit up as well, her blue eyes wide with shock, her mouth open as she panted for breath. "Thanks" she said after a moment, her breathing still not controlled.

"Rebecca, are you-"

"Yeah. It's. Nothing. Just. A. Little. Shocked. Is all." She shook her head. "Thought I had. This stupid asthma. Beat by now. Guess not."

"Do you need a minute?" Mat asked, standing up.

Rebecca shook her head. "No. I'm fine now." She took his offered hand nonetheless.

Mat pointed to the burning aircraft remains. "Well, not to be insensitive to whoever was onboard that thing, but _that_ was very convenient."

"Yeah. What do you think it was?"

Mat shrugged. "Can't tell from just these few pieces. Probably a little private plane, or maybe a fighter of some sort. It was too small to be anything else." He gestured toward the school. "Shall we?"

The wall surrounding the Raven's Gate Academy had been made of concrete, with steel rebar inside to give it extra strength. Whoever had designed it hadn't planned to have a small aircraft fly into the middle of their wall, though. Nothing could stand up to that kind of impact.

"Careful" Mat told Rebecca, who was nervously trying to maintain her balance on the crumbling hole. "Watch your step."

"Mat, I've got it under control" Rebecca replied irritably. "I can do this my-ah!" She'd slung her MP-5 on her back, and the sudden shift in weight from the SMG made her loose her balance. She flailed her arms, trying to catch herself, but there wasn't much she could do to stop herself from falling.

Mat reached up and grabbed her waist, steadying her as best he could. He had to duck to avoid the barrel of the SMG, which came very close to hitting him in the face, but with his help Rebecca managed to regain her footing.

"Thanks" she said. "Sorry for the trouble."

"Not a problem" Mat replied. "Now, can we get a move on? I want a turn risking breaking my neck too, ya know?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot." She sighed. "But, you are _my_ idiot."

Mat snorted. "Only because no one else wanted me."

"True." Rebecca smiled. "It's been good to see you again. I-I missed being around you when I left."

"I missed you too, Becca" Mat replied.

They stood there for a moment in silence.

"You can let go of me now, you know?" Rebecca said.

"Right. Down you go" Mat replied, his face a little red. His only consolation was that Rebecca's normally pale face was almost the same color as her hair.

Mat checked to make sure the Benelli was safetied, then set it down on the other side of the wall before climbing over himself. Some famous British explorer from the end of the last century (or the beginning of this one; Mat couldn't remember) had blown his head off in a similar manner. They'd even made a really, really dirty movie about. Something about mountains...The thing it had driven home for Mat was that shotguns were something to take seriously. Safety was important for any weapon, but especially so with one so readily able to perform unwanted amputations.

Once on the other side of the wall, Mat collected the Benelli, then took a look around. "Where do we start?" he asked Rebecca, taking in the spacious grounds with a long, panning gaze, like a sprinkler. "There's a lot of ground to cover, but I don't like the idea of us splitting up. Not without some way to communicate."

Rebecca nodded, then pointed toward a pair of vehicles painted in standard RPD blue/black parked just inside the school's gate. "Maybe we can find something useful in those?"

"Okay, but let's be careful" Mat said, gripping the plastic shotgun tightly. "It's too quiet out here."

Mat took the lead as the advanced on the two dark blue armored cars, crouching low, his shotgun held diagonally across his body, his finger near but not on the trigger. Rebecca walked backwards behind him, watching to make sure nothing snuck up on them.

There was something in the first armored car. An infected, most likely. Mat could hear its loud, appalling slurps as he approached, and when he placed his back up against the vehicle, he could feel it moving around on the other side. He turned to look at Rebecca, pointing at the personnel compartment and mouthing "zombie." She nodded, raising the MP-5 to chest level, miming "I'll watch your back." Mat nodded once, then spun around off the truck, raising the Benelli to his shoulder, squinting down the weapon's sights.

The zombie had once been a janitor; at least, he was wearing a workman's uniform. He was on his knees in front of a body so messily killed Mat couldn't identify who it had been in life. When the dead janitor saw Mat, he looked up, staring at him with wide, almost childlike grey eyes, glazed over in death. He opened his bloody mouth and let out an angry roar, locking the joints of his blood soaked hands into powerful claws.

Mat put the janitor's head between the fox-ear-like rear sights of his shotgun, his finger tensing on the trigger. BLAM! The janitor's body slumped back into the armored car, his head above the jaw liquefied and splattered across the internal compartment.

Mat climbed into the armored car, then turned and offered Rebecca his hand. "All clear" he said simply.

The inside of the transport revealed who it belonged to. Mat had thought it was from the Raven's Gate precinct, but the severed arm lying near the driver's seat was wearing the much darker blue favored by Special Weapons and Tactics and the Select Police Force. The SPF patch on the shoulder, and the letters stenciled on the inside of the personnel bay were also a giveaway.

The weapons rack was empty, the police apparently having had time to exit the car before whatever misfortune had befallen them, but there were several boxes of ammunition, including two large metal boxes of shotgun shells. Mat grabbed one, opened it, and loaded up the lower right-hand pocket of his pants with the green scattergun rounds. The other box he slid into his backpack, after making sure it was securely fastened. He also grabbed a box of 9mm ammo, but saved the rest for Rebecca. She was carrying two weapons of the same caliber, and so would blow through her handgun ammo twice as fast. Rebecca was wearing jeans, which dramatically limited her carrying capacity, but she still had the messenger bag Mat had given her, into which she placed three dull red boxes of pistol ammo.

Next to the ammo shelf was a small, flat black platform, with several grooves set into it. All but two of these were empty, the walkie-talkies that normally lived there apparently with the police somewhere on the grounds. Mat checked the battery light on the small charger. Green. _Good_.

"Here, we better take these with us, too" he said, pulling the last two radios from their cradles and handing one to Rebecca. "I'm still not a hundred percent thrilled about the idea of us getting separated, but at least this way we'll be able to stay in touch."

Rebecca nodded, clipping the radio to her pocket. Next to the radios was a small box containing several earpieces. They weren't wireless, meaning they'd get in the way and probably try as hard as possibly to get pulled out on everything he and Rebecca passed, but they might still come in handy. "Here you go" he said, handing her one, plugging another into his radio before placing the plastic bud in his ear. He'd run the chord underneath his shirt, which would cut down on how much of it could get hung up on things, but all the experience Mat had with headphones told him it wouldn't matter. Odds were good it would find something to come loose on, and probably at a really inconvenient moment.

"Are you read?" Rebecca asked.

Mat shook his head. "Why don't you stay here for a minute? I want to get a look at that other car."

"Okay" Rebecca said. "Just be careful."  
>Mat smiled. "Hey, it's me, remember?"<p>

"Yeah, that's what has me concerned."  
>"Haven't we had this discussion before?" Mat asked.<p>

"Probably about a hundred times. Now, will you get a move on? I want to get back to the station at some point this week."

Mat leapt the roughly twenty-four inches from the tailgate of the armored car to the ground, then turned to the left, to approach the second armored car. He didn't worry about making noise this time. After all the talking he and Rebecca had been doing, he suspected any other zombies in the area had to know they were here. And, of course, he'd already shot one in the head with a shotgun...

One of the back doors to the transport was wide open, while the other had been partially closed, making it look as if the vehicle had been vacated rapidly by someone...or something. From the angle of the partially closed door, Mat couldn't see the inside of the transport until he swung it open. Even then, it was still far too dark for him to see, so Mat raised the Benelli and clicked on the rail-mounted flashlight.

The first thing he noticed was how the light reflected off several small bands of metal, lining both walls of the compartment. In the odd glow of the Benelli's flashlight, it took Mat a moment to recognize what he was looking at. But when it did occur to him, it was akin to being run over by a freight train. Cages. _Open_ cages.

"Dogs" he said quietly. "Oh, _shit_."

(REBECCA)

When Mat got back to the transport, his face was white, and his hands were trembling slightly. "Is everything okay?" she asked, somewhat dreading the answer.

"The second car is from the K-9 division" he replied simply. "I don't know what the thinking behind it was, but the cages are all open, and there are infected dogs inside the grounds."

Rebecca shivered. Umbrella, she'd learned from Marcus' diary, had a penchant for naming their bioweapons after mythical creatures. Dogs infected with the Tyrant virus were called Cerberus, and were among the deadlier monsters she'd encountered. Cerberri had attacked the military transport carrying Billy; without which they probably never would have met. The infected dogs had also mortally wounded her teammate, Edward Dewey, along with Mat's friend Rain Ocampo. They had also devoured Alpha Team's Joseph Frost outside the Arklay Mansion. They weren't a threat to be taken lightly.

"What are we gonna do?" she asked, checking the fire-selector switch on her SMG. She was having a hard enough time hitting the slow moving zombies on semi-automatic. Against cerberri, she wanted every advantage she could get.

"Well, we definitely aren't splitting up; I'll tell you that right now." Mat shook his head, checking the magazine of his shotgun. "Aside from that, I don't have the foggiest. We're just gonna have to watch each other's back, too."

They stepped down from the transport, eyes scanning for signs of movement. "Here boy" Mat said quietly.

Rebecca elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't" she said firmly. "Don't even joke about that."

"Where do you think we should look first?" he asked, looking at the oddly-shaped campus. There was a large, vaguely C-shaped building in the center, part of which had been bisected by the falling airplane. A smaller building sat in between the prongs of the main one. A few other, even smaller structures, dotted the school grounds

Rebecca pointed to the smaller building. "That one looks smaller. Let's check there."

"Good idea. I'll take the lead."

It struck Rebecca, as they made their way across the deserted campus, that they weren't much older than some of the students. The Raven's Gate Academy was apparently a one-stop-shop, with an elementary, middle, and high school all on the same grounds. It was an odd reminder of how young she and Mat were. Most teenagers, at least not in America, hadn't confronted their own mortality as often as she and her best friend had. They shared a strange and somewhat unfortunate bond, Mat and she, and while she wished the circumstances that had caused that bond to form had never taken place, she was glad she someone to share it with.

She and Mat took up positions on opposite sides of one doorway, their backs to the wall. Mat spun to his right, bracing his foot against the wooden frame and kicking against it. There was a crack from inside as the lock broke, and the door swung open. Mat hurried inside, taking a knee and sweeping his shotgun to the right. Rebecca took a position behind him, covering the newly opened room's other angle with her MP-5. Satisfied nothing was going to jump out at them, she and Mat lowered their weapons and looked around.

They were in a gymnasium, on the floor of a wide-open basketball court. The lights were off, but the glow from the burning city outside enabled them to see...to a point. Rebecca could make out a few dim shapes in the orange tinted darkness.

"Let's be quick" Mat said. "This place gives me the creeps."

They spread out, since the room was large and open enough they'd be able to shout to each other if they ran into trouble.

Rebecca made her way toward a staircase. There was a small circuit above the basketball court, probably intended for an indoor running track. From up there, she'd be able to see the entire gym. "Going upstairs" she called to Mat. He didn't look away from his search, just giving her a quick thumbs up.

Upstairs was fairly uncrowded, and Rebecca was a little surprised. She'd managed to avoid gym in high school; being a twelve year-old in a gym class designed for sixteen-year olds could've been a nightmare. Fortunately for her, she was given the option to opt out. It had been a no brainer.

There were a few odds and ends on the balcony: a couple of wheeled basketball racks and a few other miscellaneous pieces of sporting equipment. Rebecca smiled faintly. She _liked_ basketball, she even played for the RPD from time to time. She set down the MP-5 and stepped toward them, taking one off the rack. She judged she could probably make a shot from up here, and it would definitely scare the crap out of-

_Grrrr._

Rebecca spun around, her eyes going wide as she searched for the source of the noise. Her SMG was leaning up against the wall about two feet away; maybe she could...

A pair of green eyes stared at her from the darkness. _Oh__God_ Rebecca thought. The dog was close, far too close for her to get to her weapon in time. She had the Samurai Edge, but she didn't trust her ability to put the thing down fast enough.

The dog stepped forward, and her eyes had finally adjusted enough to the dark that she could see it...to a point. Slowly she drew her handgun. The iron sights on the custom Beretta had been painted with tritium, and were useable in the dark thanks to the glowing metal. This was going to be tricky...

There was a shriek, and something Rebecca _hadn't_ seen darted forward. She screamed, raising her hand over her face, knowing she was about to be eviscerated, part of her mind hoping Mat would hear her and come running, another knowing she was already dead, and hoping he ran.

But the new monster didn't go after her. Instead, it tackled the Cerberus, slashing at it with two long bladed scythes. The dog screamed once, but that cut off immediately. The monster with the blade arms tore the infected dog apart, messily splattering it across the walls.

Rebecca took a step back, her eyes and mouth wide open in shock. She wasn't confident she could take down a Cerberus without more practice; now there was something even _worse_ out there? Now what?

Rebecca managed to trip over who knew what. She started to cry out, only to have someone grab her from behind. Only a quick glance up showed her it was Mat...and he had his shotgun trained on the new monster. He let her go, then raised his finger for quiet. Then he put his other hand on the barrel of his scattergun.

_No_ Rebecca mouthed to him. _It's__too__dangerous_. But he couldn't see her well enough, so she put her hand on the shotgun and forced it back down and shook her head.

Mat looked at her in what had to be confusion, so she pressed her hand against his chest, signaling him to back off. This thing destroying the Cerberus was _fast_, and was she had a sinking suspicion it was probably bullet proof, too. This had to be a new pet from Umbrella, and it was a real nasty piece of work.

Mat nodded slowly, apparently catching on. He always looked down on himself, but Rebecca had always known he was smarter than he gave himself credit for. It wasn't that he was lazy, it was just safer to play stupid.

Slowly they made their way back downstairs. From there, it was just a simple matter of carefully shutting the door behind them, and they were back outside. Rebecca was a little miffed about having to leave the MP-5 behind, but it was better than being eviscerated by...whatever that thing had been.

"Stay close" Mat said. "I'd rather not run into another one of those things, but if we do, just stay behind me."

Rebecca sent him an angry glare. "Are you _serious?_ I can still-"

The sudden scream piercing the night air cut her off. It wasn't the cry of the monster from the gym, although that creature answered. This was the scream of a person, a girl, probably one of the students, and she was clearly terrified. A second later Rebecca heard why: the cry of one of the BOWs Umbrella called Hunters, the same type that had nearly killed her in the mansion, and that had scarred Mat's face when he tried to protect her.

"Let's go" she and Rebecca said in unison, both of them nodding, a look of understanding passing between them. In the twelve years she'd known Mat Dawson, she'd never felt closer to him than at that moment.

_(MAT)

The inside of the school was every bit as bad as Mat had thought it would be. There was blood on the walls, blood on the floor…it looked like something out of a nightmare. The only place he could really even compare it to was the mansion built above the Hive. It had had the same ominously empty feel to it, as if something was just waiting to jump out and kill them.

It was a creepy building anyway, all wood panels: dark oak and cherry and other kinds of tree he didn't recognize. The tiles on the floor were actual _stone_, not the broken synthetic crap they'd used at his high school back in Harvardville. The whole place screamed money.

The dead airplane had managed to smash through part of the second and third stories, letting someone standing on the first floor look all the way up to the top. The stairs were out, covered with rubble; they'd have to find another way up.

"Think you can give me a boost?" Rebecca asked.

Mat blinked at her. Rebecca hadn't grown or put on weight since she was about thirteen. "Probably. But I know what you're thinking, and I won't. It's too-"

There was a shriek from somewhere up above them, the noise echoing all over the oddly deserted campus. Rebecca sent him a look. "Someone needs our help. We're the police. We don't get to ignore danger."

Mat made a face. "I don't like it, but-" He crouched down, looping his fingers together. "Let's just get this over with."

She was heavier than he'd expected. Not _heavy_, but he still hadn't been quite prepared. And-

Mat looked at Rebecca's left foot, or more specifically, at the tan colored leather shoe she was wearing on it. "What is this?"

Rebecca was trying to balance in the palm of his hand on one foot, and not having the easiest time of it. "Is now really the time?" she asked, sounding a little irritated.

Mat kept studying her shoe. "Is that a…cowgirl boot?"

He saw her face get a little red. "Maybe. What difference does that make?"

"Are you expecting to have to rope some cattle while we're out here?"

"They were what I had" Rebecca said, in the defensive voice she saved for when she was embarrassed. "Is that a problem?"

Mat shook his head. "No, I was just wondering what other odd habits you'd picked up since you went off to college."

"With my foot right at head level, now is probably not the best time to be making fun of me" Rebecca pointed out.

"Point taken."

He felt the weight in his hand grow a little less, and knew Rebecca had grabbed the upper lip of the next floor. "Yell if you see anything!" he shouted to her, which got a grunt in response as she wiggled onto the second story. A second later he heard the sound of a round being chambered in her handgun, then her footsteps as she headed away.

Mat unslung the shotgun, his eyes darting nervously around. There were a lot of dark spaces for infected to hide in, and…

A door on his left creaked open. Mat brought the shotgun up, the flashlight on and trained on the source of the noise. He relaxed a second later, it was just a little kid…

"Hey, are you okay? Come here, I'm a cop, and-oh God…" The little boy in the doorway looked fine…from the left side, the way Mat had first seen him. From the right, it was clear that his arm and much of his face had been eaten away. "Oh God oh God oh God" Mat kept repeating as the zombie kid stepped toward him.

And there were more coming, stumbling out of two other classrooms. There had to be at least fifteen, all very bloody. The detached part of Mat's head reasoned that was probably because there hadn't been much meat on them to begin with. The rest of him just wanted to be sick.

He squinted down the sights of the shotgun, his hands trembling, the weapon rattling up against his cheek. He tried to make his finger squeeze the trigger twice, but couldn't do it. Not kids. He couldn't shoot a bunch of _children_, not even if they were infected. He took a step backward, forgetting for the moment that there was a drop off from the aircraft's passage, and then he was falling backwards, the third grade class from hell toppling over the edge with him. He had time to worry about Rebecca, and how she'd react to zombie kids, and then the world was black.

(MADDIE)

The green monster was still chasing them. She could hear its strange, clomping lope as it followed, occasionally letting out odd snorting bellows as it ran, its long claws scraping the floor. Maddie was running as fast as she could, almost shoulder to shoulder with the girl she'd rescued from the English class. She thought her name was Lisa, or Liza, or Liz, or some such thing' she couldn't remember. She _did_ remember the other girl was kind of a stuck up bitch, though. Granted, considering the current state of affairs in Raccoon City, the usual high school pecking orders were probably suspended until further notice.

She had a feeling this other girl, L-whateverhernamewas, was going to be a massive pain in the ass. She was wearing a big white dress and flats, which were decidedly not the clothes you wanted to have on when you were running for your life. She was also panting heavily, her breath uneven and sounding a little frenzied. The other girl had been in that classroom for who knew how long; it was possible she'd lost it.

The other girl picked that particular moment to trip. Maddie didn't realize it at first; she just assumed she was out pacing her classmate. It wasn't until the anguished "DON'T LEAVE ME!" cry that she noticed L was gone. "Oh shit" she said, turning to see the monster not three feet away, raising one of its massive, hideous talons to impale the irritating young woman. Maddie didn't much like her; all the same, that was a bad way to die.

Maddie swung the baseball bat with both hands, catching the monster across the face. She felt something break, and for a moment thought she'd smashed the thing's skull. Then the bat suddenly seemed lighter and unbalanced, and she realized she'd broken it in half. _Better__and__better_.

L-whatever scrambled to her feet, gave Maddie a brief look, then darted down the hallway without a backwards glace. _Bitch!_ Maddie wanted to scream. Scream she did, but not anything especially meaningful. It was the sound of someone condemning herself to death, as she brandished the broken bat and lunged at the monster, intent on making this thing hurt as much as she did.

Then something grabbed her from behind. Something small, and warm, and human, and for a moment Maddie was convinced someone was trying to hold her down so the monster could finish her off. And _that_was just not gonna happen.

Maddie elbowed the person who'd grabbed her in the gut, and received a surprised and somewhat girlish gasp in response. The grip released, and she lunged out of the way, as the monster slammed its claws down into the floor. There was a loud SNAP as its talons shattered on the hard tiles, and it let out a scream of pure anguish.

Maddie thought L had truly lost it and tried to hold her down, maybe as some sort of offering to the green monster. But the girl sitting on the floor, rubbing her stomach and staring wide-eyed at the monster wasn't someone she knew. This girl was tiny, had dark red hair and blue eyes, and looked a little young for the tactical vest she had over a blue tank top, the letters RPD across the front.

"C'mon!" she shouted, her voice having a surprising amount of command in it. Maddie wasn't quite receiving at the moment, though, so the police-girl started to grab her arm. "Hurry, before it it-ugh!"

The monster looked up, saw the redheaded cop's outstretched hand, and lashed out with its good claw, catching her across the upper arm. The girl cried out, grabbing at her torn skin, blood seeping out around her fingers. She sank to her knees, staring up at the monster, her eyes wide as it readied itself for a killing stroke…

Except something slammed into it from behind. There was another wordless cry, and Maddie realized there was a guy suddenly perched on top of the struggling monster. It tried to get up, but he slammed its face into the floor, before pulling a knife from behind his back and driving it into the back of the creature's head…again and again, long after it had stopped moving, the only sound his wordless grunts and the wet SHTHUNK of the blade entering and exiting the body.

Maddie and the girl cop watched with what were probably matching expressions of horror as the new guy finally stopped, his shoulders heaving as he slid off the monster's corpse, his knife slick with dark red blood. Casually he whipped it clean on the floor, then returned it to his sheath, before turning to the police-girl.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the concern in his voice clashing against the monster blood on his face. He put his hands on the girl's shoulders, his eyes fixed on the slashes on her arm. "I should never have let you go alone" he said quietly, shaking his head. "I should've been there, I should've-"

"What's this 'Let me' business?" the girl cop asked. "I chose to go. And it's going to be okay. We just need to get it cleaned up." She reached down to her waist for a side pack that wasn't there, then remembered to check the grey and green messenger back she was carrying. After a moment of searching, she removed a roll of gauze. "Can you do the honors? I can't quite reach-"

"Of course" said the guy, who Maddie figured had to be a cop too, although she'd never seen RPD officers who carried around _knives_…"I'm so sorry" he was saying as he bandaged the police-girl up. "I should've-"

The girl cop put her hand on his shoulder. "Mat, it's fine. _I__'__m_ fine. Don't worry so much."

"But-"

"I'm okay. Trust me on this. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

The girl cop turned to look at Maddie for the first time since the monster had slashed her arm. "I'm sorry about earlier. Hunters are nasty pieces of work, and, as you can see, they can do some pretty unpleasant" she winced briefly, her teeth gritted, eyes closed as the other cop tightened the gauze around her arm, "things if you're not careful. So tell me, who are you?"

Maddie thought for a moment. "I'm-I'm Maddie Blackwell."

The girl cop smiled, an oddly engaging one, and Maddie was again curious about how old she was. Maddie was seventeen, and these two looked to be no more than three years older than her. "Well, Maddie, I'm Rebecca, and my friend here is Mat. We're with the police department, and we're here to rescue you-What's wrong?"

It was all too much for Maddie. In the last hour, she'd watched two of her best friends ripped to pieces, nearly been torn apart herself by something that looked like it belonged in a Rob Zombie video, and now she was learning that she might be going to someplace safe? Without a response for Rebecca, Maddie felt her vision black out. She struck the floor with a loud crack, but she was already out cold, so at least she didn't feel _that_, on top of everything else.

**End of Part One**

**Well, folks, it's that time of week again, and I'd like to remind you all to start posting reviews. I've enabled anonymous ones from now on, so now you don't even have to have an account to post them. Still, having an account with FFN means you can set alerts, making it easier to keep track of this and any other story you happen to be following. Anyway, thanks for reading, and you can look forward to more updates in the coming weeks.**

**-Godzillafan93**


	23. Interlude II

Interlude II: Going Away Party

(LEON)

Graduation from high school had been a big deal. Leon remembered it only vaguely, however; he'd never been that drunk in his entire life. At least not until today, anyway.

Today, everything was a blur. Graduation from the police academy in Boulder wasn't all that different from the ceremony at his Denver high school; the only major exceptions were that he'd graduated at term in September rather than in May, and at least this time he could drink legally.

He was well past the legal limit, he realized. At the moment, he couldn't remember what that was…but at least he was in good company.

Seated at the booth across from his was his fellow graduate, Ark Thompson. He'd gotten to know the other man during a forensics course they'd insisted everyone take, and the two had hit it off pretty well. At the moment, though, Leon didn't particularly care who he was drinking with. He wasn't picky about company, not when he'd had this much to drink.

Ark raised his glass in salute. "To the class of 1999!" he cried out. He probably didn't realize he was being loud; Leon had noticed he had the same problem when he was this wasted.

"Don't you mean 199_8_?" asked Donald MacTaggart, a fellow early-leaver. He was drunk too, but not nearly to the excesses of Ark or Leon.

Ark thought about that for a moment, his mind clearly slowed by all the beer he'd consumed. "Hmm…" he said after a moment. "To the class of 1999…early."

The fourth person at their table rolled his eyes. Daniel Gregory, a devout Baptist, was the only member of their little group who wouldn't be drinking anything tonight. He was their designated driver, and ordinarily he was a pretty good guy. His tee totaling was kind of pissing Leon off right now, though.

"What's your problem, guy?" he asked. He was sure they'd had this conversation before; at the moment, he probably wouldn't have cared even if he _had_ been able to remember it.

"I subscribe to a higher power" Dan replied, shaking his head. "And I also don't so why you spend thirty and forty dollars a night to make fools of yourselves."

"Cuz it's fun" Don said. Ark just nodded slowly, an admittedly stupid grin on his face. A couple more rounds, and he probably wouldn't know where he was.

Dan smiled. "Tell me that in the morning. I guarantee you won't feel that way in the morning."

Leon met that smile with a grin of his own. "Suit yourself, brother. But as for me, I prefer to live for now, and not worry about tomorrow."

Dan took a sip of the Coke he'd been nursing along all night. "Yeah, sure. Enjoy your live failure."

Don patted Leon on the shoulder. "C'mon, leave it, man. You're not gonna win. Just let it go." He pointed to the bar…specifically at the two extremely hoot young women leaning up against it. "In the meantime, officer Kennedy, I suggest you direct you attention toward those two suspicious looking individuals at the bar."

Leon Scott Kennedy nodded slowly. "Officer MacTaggert, I do believe you may be right. It seems this _does_ deserve some investigation."

Grinning ear to ear, the two newly minted police officers headed toward the bar. Leon knew he wasn't going to remember tonight in the morning. That just meant he was going to have to make the most of it now.


	24. Delaying Action

Part II:

Desperate Times

Chapter 21:

Delaying Action

(KEVIN)

They'd handed him an M-16, pointed to a piece of roadblock not currently occupied, and told him to wait there. Kevin hadn't held one of the rather ugly looking rifles since graduating the academy; automatic weapons weren't commonly used by police detectives. Still, he found sighting the rifle wasn't that far removed from riding a bike. Not in terms of lethality so much as ease of memory.

Mark, the big security guard, was nearby, his Beretta held in a two handed grip. They'd offered him a an assault rifle too, but he'd refused, muttering something about how "unreliable the damn things were in 'Nam." The RPD ordnance officer, something Ford, had just shrugged and wondered off, to try and foist the rifle off on someone else.

They'd shipped the other survivors off to the RPD main HQ, where they'd be out of the way. There was a small desk set up for processing survivors, and there Kevin had learned that the pushy blonde reporter was Alyssa Ashcroft, the doctor was George Hamilton, the girl was Yoko Suzuki, the ass-hat mechanic was David King, and the pansy subway attendant was Jim Chapman. Kevin filed that information away further use. In all likelihood, he'd see them again. He'd been instrumental in saving their lives, after all, and that was something one didn't tend to forget.

While the others had checked in, confirming they all lived in Raccoon City and putting their names on the list of people displaced by the…zombie outbreak, Kevin had made his report on the situation in St. Michael's to his most superior officer, Captain Anders of the Select Police Force.

Jake Anders didn't look like he was old enough to command a police unit. He didn't look old enough to even be _in_ a police unit; he was five foot seven, with a round face and somewhat nasally voice. Kevin could've found him a more commanding figure had he tried to appear more masculine, perhaps by growing a beard or _something_. But he didn't, and that was that.

Anders, supposedly, had a great tactical mind; a genius when it came to outflanking a problem. Still, the Select Police Force had never actually gone into the field, and neither had its captain, so far as Kevin knew. _Fine, call it baptism by total immersion_ he decided, trying to fight down the unease growing in his stomach.

The first units to arrive at this particular junction, the intersection of First and Main streets, had been regular patrol cars, which formed the second line of defense, there lights flashing, doors wide open, making the white Fords look like the frilled lizards that had killed that guy from _Seinfeld_ in _Jurassic Park_. The cars sat between the more recently added wooden sawhorse-like roadblocks in the front and the large, boxy SPF transports at the rear.

Past the armored cars were a series of tents. Two had large red crosses on top, the international symbol for a field hospital. Next to them was a single larger tent. This was the RPD's field HQ, and where Kevin had been ordered to report to.

Kevin pushed aside the tent flap and stepped into the command center, expecting to see hustle and bustle, expecting to find it crammed full of police officers…and instead seeing it was nearly deserted, occupied by only two people: Captain Anders…and Captain Peyton Welles.

Anders was seated at a table in the center of the tent, head bent over a map. He looked up when he heard Kevin's footsteps. "Detective Ryman, what do you have to report?" he asked without preamble.

Kevin, taken aback, took a few seconds to frame his response. "Well, Captain, it's my opinion, having been on the ground, that St. Michael's is lost to us. The precinct there was always small, and according to an officer I met on the scene, all of them are now deceased. The entire district is a write-off, sir."

Welles cleared his throat. "Strategy is not your responsibility, Detective. Your job is just to get us information. Think you can remember that?"

_Just shut up and do what you're told_. Kevin hadn't heard that since he was a little kid, and it royally pissed him off. "Yes, sir" he replied; it was the only safe thing to say.

"Good" said Welles, smiling, as if he'd just put Kevin in his place. _Who are you kidding? He just _did_ put you in your place._

"Tell me, Detective, what is the condition of the roads leading into St. Michael's?" Anders wanted to know.

"For the most part, they're in the same condition they were before everything went south" Kevin replied. "Aside for the portion destroyed when we pulled out, they should still be intact." He paused, deciding to push his luck. "Sir, I might have a better idea of how to answer your questions if I knew why you were asking them."

"Detective" Welles said, warningly. _Yours is not to reason why, but to do and die_.

"And the buildings themselves? Are they mostly intact?"

"Sir, I cannot be positive about them right now; judging by all the soot in the air, at least half the city is on fire. What may have been intact an hour ago could be charred rubble now." He paused. "But yes, when we went through, everything was more or less intact."

Anders marked something on a notepad next to his map. "Thank you Detective. That will be all."

Kevin sent him a confused look. "Sir?"

"Dismissed, detective" said Welles.

"What are my orders?" Kevin asked.

Anders gestured vaguely with his left hand. "Go find Lieutenant Parker. He'll sort things out."

"Thank you, Captain" Kevin said. But he said it to the top of Anders' head; he and Welles had gone back to studying the map. Kevin caught a glimpse of it as he made his way back to the front of the roadblock, the nagging sensation that it seemed somehow familiar to him.

Finally, standing at the barricade, the M-16 at his shoulder, it dawned on him. It was a map of St. Michael's district, but with lines drawn all over it. It almost looked like Welles and Anders were planning an _offensive_ back into the overrun sector of town, despite what Kevin had tried to tell them. That thought brought him up short, disbelieving his superiors could be that stupid. The RPD's only option right now was to hold on to what little portions of Raccoon City they still owned, and hope reinforcements arrived quickly. To do anything else; especially to send more forces into those areas already overwhelmed and lost, would be both foolish and costly. If the RPD tried to reenter St. Michael's, it would only result in a lot of dead cops.

Kevin had already seen enough of those tonight to last him a lifetime. And he'd be damned if he'd throw away his life over something so stupid as that.

(NICHOLAI)

Nicholai Ginovaef perched himself on top of the hotel across the street from the police barricade, the PSG-1 nestled against his shoulder, his right cheek against the lower rim of the scope. He'd picked this spot out specifically because it overlooked the most logical place for the RPD to make a stand when their main HQ was threatened. He'd had to assume the police would be somewhat well lead, if hopelessly outclassed by the BOWs loose in the city. If they didn't try to dig in here, then he'd just have to move on. It would cost him time, but that wasn't a problem. He had all the time in the world.

But his bet had paid off. There were the police, including the Umbrella informant he wanted to eliminate. The man was an officer within the Raccoon City Police Department's Special Weapons and Tactics branch, according to Umbrella. His handler had never used his name in a dispatch, only referring to the man as DARK BLUE. Nicholai had had to beat _that_ out of the rather fat editor of _The_ _Raccoon Press. _That man had taken far more abuse than Nicholai would've expected before finally caving in, but in the end he'd been…cooperative. He'd seemed surprised when Nicholai drew his suppressed USP and shot him in the head.

Nicholai checked his watch. It was getting late, but he wouldn't fall asleep: he couldn't. His target was already here, but he couldn't take the shot yet. He needed to wait until the infected attacked in large numbers before he fired, when he could use the sounds of the RPD's weapons to mask his own weapon's report.

Until then, it was just a waiting game.


	25. False Pretenses

Chapter 22:

False Pretenses

(ELZA)

It felt like an eternity (but was probably only about five minutes) since they'd cut off Raven's Gate from St. Michael's. It was now just a matter of them finding another group of survivors, then figuring out how to escape Raccoon City. After all, not _everyone_ in town could've turned to cannibalism, right?

Roy was still in the lead, walking slightly hunched, his rifle held close to his chest, as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible. _He probably is_ she realized. _It's probably from his cop training; to make it harder for someone to shoot him. _She was astonished she'd found something about their current situation to be relieved about. _At least they don't carry guns_.

Suddenly, she caught a noise, a distant rumble echoing on the deserted streets. It almost sounded like…

"Chopper!" shouted Roy, standing up and waving at the rather stubby looking helicopters that flew overhead. "Hey guys! Down here!" He turned to Elza. "C'mon, let's get a move on. This could be our ticket out of here."

"Right" she replied, and they started to run.

There weren't many zombies on the streets, Elza noticed. Things were pretty empty, although she did pass a couple areas where there was evidence of previous battles: spent shell casings and rekilled zombies. She had no way of knowing, but these were the remains of Mat and Rebecca's passage through the same area about ninety minutes earlier.

"C'mon!" Roy shouted over his shoulder, trying to urge her on. "This way-!"

There weren't any zombies…until there were. Elza and Roy came around a corner, to find a street nearly packed with the things. They were ambling about, oblivious to the world, that sort of sideways gaze they all seemed to affect fixed on the street.

"Oh…" Roy said quietly, lowering his rifle to stare in surprise at the horde spread out before them.

Something was stirring behind an abandoned car, and for a moment Elza was worried it was an infected dog. She'd seen the monster canines on her trip to the Raven's Gate precinct, and felt it was too soon for a reunion.

But it wasn't a dog. It was something much, much worse.

The thing that rose up from behind the abandoned sedan was like something out of a nightmare: six feet tall, with molted green/black skin and six limbs, two legs, two arms, and two stubby appendages it held above its terrible head that had no discernable purpose, but which made it look all the horrific. Elza had never seen anything like it before, and had no idea what it was doing inside Raccoon City, but apparently the zombies had decided it wasn't good to eat, since they were leaving it alone. Further, it looked to be smarter than them, since only it had noticed her and Roy's arrival. That changed quickly, however.

With a shriek, the monster bug-thing clambered onto the roof of the car, causing it to buckle under the creature's weight, the front and back windshields exploding outward, glass showering the pavement. The nightmare leapt down onto the street again, hurrying toward them, its middle limbs held out, its claws clacking on the road.

"Better and better" Roy muttered, taking aim and opening fire with the rifle. Two bullets struck the monster in the chest, knocking the creature on its back. It spasmed, flailing its limbs in the air, before letting out a final shriek and going still.

"Let's go" said Roy, turning to find another of the hideous creatures was directly behind them. He had enough time to cry out before the thing grabbed him, pulling him close to its disgusting body, a long straw-like appendage sliding out of its mouth. It reared back to drive that into Roy's face…only to let him go and stagger back as Elza shot it once, twice, three times with her handgun, knocking it off its feet.

"Thanks for the safe" Roy said, nodding. Then he pointed to the slowly approaching horde. "We won't get through that way. C'mon, through here!"

Running into a dark alley would ordinarily have been low on Elza's list of preferred alternatives. On the other hand, given that her only other option was trying to fight her way through a mob of undead cannibals, she was undergoing a significant paradigm shift.

The alley was just as dark, just as dank, and just as horrifying on the inside as Elza's imagination had made it as she and Roy ran. The only thing her mind hadn't supplied was the asthmatic who was apparently hanging from the wall, like Spider-Man, complete with what sounded like enormous suction cups as it followed them through the twisting labyrinth.

At last, the somewhat less dark streets of Raccoon City loomed ahead, and Elza let out a sigh of relief as she and Roy stepped out into the artificial glow of a street light…only to step back into the alley a second later at the sound of a car horn. No sooner had they done so, then a white painted van shot down the street.

"Hey, that was a car" Roy said stupidly, staring after it. A second later, it occurred to him what had just happened. "Hey! That was a car!"

"Wait!" he and Elza shouted, dashing after the quickly retreating vehicle. The van jerked to a stop, its front tires letting out a startled squeak. They caught up to it quickly, only to have the back door swing open…revealing a heavyset man with an enormous crossbow kneeling in the back.

"Three seconds" he said, cocking the weapon. "Either of you bitten?"

"No!" Elza exclaimed, at the same time Roy shouted "Hang on, I'm a cop!"

The large man relaxed, lowering the crossbow. "Oh. Sorry about that. Never can be too careful, though. Well, I suspect you're on your way to that chopper, same as me, right? Don't be shy, hop in."

"Thanks" said Roy as he and Elza climbed into the back of the van. Elza noticed it was full of racks, similar to what she'd seen at the police station. "What's all this for?" she asked.

"Guns, babe" the man replied, climbing into the driver's seat. "My brother and I run a gun shop downtown. I just took a buncha stuff to the police HQ. Those guys sure are givin' the zombies hell, poor bastards. I was on my way back, when I saw that chopper, and decided I'd just take myself a nice ticket outta Dodge."

"There are still officers at the HQ?" Roy asked, leaning against the van's only chair, the driver's seat, next to Elza.

"That's right, officer-"

"Jefferson, Roy Jefferson, and this is my friend Elza Walker."

The big man smiled. "Robert Kendo. And in answer to your question, yes, as of about an hour ago. They were putting up some kind of barricade on Main, in fact. From what I saw, they could probably hold out for a few days, with the men they have and the positions they've prepared. It all depends on how their upper management uses their resources, though-"

"Roy, are you okay?" Elza asked. There was a look of grim determination on his face.

"I should be there" he said. "I _need_ to be there."

"But we can get away-"

Roy shook his head. "No" he said firmly. "I can't. Not when there are still others trying fight. Doing their jobs. I can't just walk away from that."

"Then I can't leave either" Elza said. "We're together. No matter what."

"Elza…"

"That's all very touching, but not very necessary" said Robert. "Jesus, guy, _think_. There's one chopper on the ground in Raccoon City. Who's to say there won't be more? We could direct them toward the police HQ. It all works out."

"Oh. Of course" said Roy, sounding a little embarrassed.

"Where do you think they'll land?" Elza asked.

"K-Mart" Robert answered, without taking his eyes off the road. "Only place with a big enough parking lot."

Impressively, he was right on the money. They rounded a corner, and there was the big supermarket, with its large, flat grey building, the large fluorescent sign on the façade dark. The sliding doors at the entrance were closed and bloody, and there were cars in the lot, suggesting there had been people out shopping when things had gone south.

And sitting in the middle of the lot, rotors still spinning, was the chopper. Men in black combat gear had spread out around it, assault rifles in evidence.

"Paramilitary" Robert said as he brought the van to a stop. "Probably mercenaries, since there's no American flag on that bird." He pointed to one of the soldiers. "And that's an HK G36, with a double-drum mag. You can put down a lot of fire with that bastard. A _lot_ of fire." He sounded awed.

"Let me talk to them" said Roy. "I'm a cop, so maybe they'll listen to me."

"Go right ahead, officer" answered Robert, hefting his bowgun. "Just be careful. I don't like the looks of these guys."

"Hey!" Roy shouted, keeping his rifle at waist level, where it wasn't threatening…but could clearly become so in very little time. He was also doing his best to keep himself between the men from the chopper and Elza, and she found the sentiment at once endearing and irritating.

One of the men was standing near the chopper, conferring with a tall man with white hair and strong features. Both looked up when Roy called to them.

"Who are you?" asked the soldier, his voice masked by a full-head enclosing mask, complete with the odd side-tank for air purification.

"I'm Roy Jefferson, with the Raccoon City Police Department, and I am _very_ glad to see you guys."

The two men by the chopper exchanged a look. Elza had no luck reading either face, one because it was behind a biohazard mask, the other because it was cold and impassive.

"Officer…Jefferson, is it?" the soldier asked. Roy nodded. "Officer, we're here to search for survivors. Now, before we can proceed, I need you to tell me everything you know about the situation."

"Of course" Roy answered. "I was in Raven's Gate, at the little precinct there. We never knew what hit us; most of the force was dead within the hour. I met up with Elza there, and then we ran into Robert. I haven't seen anyone else who was still alive since we left the station."

"What do you know about the rest of the police force?"

"Sorry, but I was only a low-level patrolman. A grunt. You understand. But," Roy looked over his shoulder at Robert, "I heard they're making a stand at their main HQ. That would probably be as good a place to start as any."

The soldier nodded. "Well, that gives us a place to start at least." He tapped the chopper's hull. "Ivan, get the rotors spinning. We're moving out."

"Sorry I couldn't give you more" said Roy.

"Oh, don't worry, officer," said the soldier, "you've been very helpful." And then, without any warning, he drew his handgun and shot Roy in the gut.

"No!" shouted Elza, at the same time Robert yelled "Fuck!" at the top of his lungs. Roy sank to his knees, his whole body trembling. Elza caught him as he pitched backward, his mouth open, sucking desperately for air, his face pale.

Robert raised the bowgun and fired once at one of the soldiers, three metal quarrels flying from the weapon. The man he'd shot at dove for cover, but Robert dashed past him, toward the van. Elza followed, pulling Roy painfully to his feet. It was only about a dozen steps, but Roy was clearly in bad shape. If she could get him to the van, though…

There was a grinding noise as the van's engine turned over, and then the vehicles was in drive, tires squealing as it pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Elza and Roy behind.

"Wait!" she shouted, desperation in her voice.

"Sorry, darlin'" Robert shouted back. "Better you two than me!"

Elza slumped to the ground, holding Roy to her chest, disbelief falling on her like an avalanche.

One of the mercenaries pointed to them. "Should we take 'em down? Finish 'em off?"

The head thug shook his head. "Negative. The BOWs will take care of that for us. We have bigger fish to fry." He pointed to the chopper, waving two fingers in the air. "Let's saddle up and move out!"

Elza was still holding Roy when they left, disbelief at why the world had suddenly gone so wrong paralyzing her. One thought kept repeating itself in her mind.

_So close. _

_So close._


	26. The Mission

Chapter 23:

The Mission

(REBECCA)

It took her a minute, but Maddie was finally awake. "What happened?" she asked blearily, rubbing the back of her head, which, Rebecca was grateful to note, wasn't bleeding.

"You passed out, after we told you we were getting you out of here" Rebecca explained. "Don't worry, you're safe now."

"Well, relatively" Mat amended, which earned him an irritated look from his friend. "What?"

Rebecca didn't answer, instead turning back to Maddie. "Now, we're going to take you to the station with us, but first you need to tell us some things."

Maddie nodded slowly. "Sure, anything."

"Have you been bitten?"

Maddie looked confused. "Bitten? Why?"

"Because if you have, you're gonna die" Mat said coldly.

Rebecca didn't bother with dirty looks this time. Instead, she smacked his arm.

"What?" he demanded irritably. "She has a right to know, doesn't she?"

"What are you talking about?" Maddie asked, her eyes darting between the two police officers.

"There's been an…incident" Rebecca said carefully. "People are getting sick, and then killing each other. Only-"

"Only they aren't staying dead" finished Mat. "They're waking back up. Then the whole fucked-up cycle begins again."

"You're crazy" Maddie said, her eyes going a little wide. "Crazy, both of you! 'Waking back up'? You mean, like zombies?" She looked from Mat to Rebecca and back. "I-I don't believe you." She took a step back.

Mat shrugged. "Fine. But be careful. Cuz what you don't believe can still trip you up now and again." He pointed at Maddie's feet.

"What are you-Ugh!" Maddie exclaimed, stepping away from the sprawled and messily killed Hunter behind her. "What is that?"

"_That_ is a bio-organic weapon" explained Rebecca. "A BOW. They're monsters, bred for war."

"What's it doing _here_?" Maddie asked next, not taking eyes off the dead creature.

"Presumably, because it escaped from an Umbrella lab somewhere nearby" Mat answered.

"Umbrella? Are you kidding?" Maddie shook her head. "You think they're behind all this?" She snorted. "My dad works for them."

"Oh really? What's he do?"

"Well, he's a….well, he…He's a chemist at their lab outside town" she managed at last.

"Uh-huh" said Mat skeptically. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but Umbrella aren't the benevolent corporation they'd like everyone to believe." He touched the thin scars on his face. "See these? I got them from another one of those Hunters, inside an Umbrella lab back in July. You may have heard about it on the news."

Maddie nodded slowly. "That's right! I thought I recognized you two! You were both part of that crazy police expedition into the forest, weren't you? The news said you'd all been declared unfit for duty. Said you were grossly incompetent, and a bunch of people died because of it."

"The news lied" Mat said simply.

Rebecca shook her head. "A lot of people _did_ die. My entire team, in fact. We were attacked by monsters in the forest. Monsters made in Umbrella labs."

"Why would they do that? It doesn't make sense, especially not here. I mean, Umbrella started here, right? Why do something like that in their own backyard?"

"It wasn't deliberate. But along the way, Umbrella managed to make themselves some pretty powerful enemies. The outbreak in the forest was a result of that, as I suspect this is." Rebecca shook her head. "Raccoon City, and all of us here, are just caught in the middle."

"So all of this…it's just an accident?" Maddie asked.

"All of this is a result of a game, played by people for whom all our lives are expendable" Mat said angrily. "A bunch of sociopaths, narcissists, and psychotics who get together and plot how best to take over the world. For them, none of this, and none of us, matters half as much as their precious little experiments or their profit margins." He shook his head. "But we're getting off topic. So, I'll ask again: are you bitten?'

Maddie shook her head. "No…those crazy people never got close enough to me for that. They were too busy with…Oh _God-_" She broke off, tears running down the sides of her face.

Rebecca and Mat exchanged glances.

_Well?_ he mouthed at her. _Say something._

_Why me?_

_Because you're a girl _he replied.

_Fine. _Rebecca put an arm around Maddie. "It's okay. You're safe now. No matter what you saw out there, it's over, and we're gonna get you out of here. I promise."

"They're dead" Maddie was saying, shaking her head in disbelief. "I was right there, and I…they're dead."

_Who's dead?_ Rebecca wondered. But she didn't want to ask, and it was probably better if they could get this poor girl moving in any case. "Maddie, we need to get out of here…"

"Wait, there's something we need to know first" said Mat. "Chief Irons sent us in to pick up a specific person; he didn't order us all the way across town out of the goodness of his heart. Is there anyone else here?"

Rebecca saw indecision cross Maddie's face, as she tried to make up her mind about something. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, there was another girl. I can't remember her name, and she ran off when that…thing attacked us."

"Thanks. We're gonna have to go find her." He stepped forward, offering her his Browning. "Here. Do _not_ lose this. I've been through a lot with this gun."

She looked at him in confusion. "What's this for?"

"Defense, and in case you get surrounded" he explained. "If it looks like it's the end, then put it up to your temple and pull the trigger. Trust me, you do _not_ want to get cornered by these things. It can be pretty-"

"I've seen it before" Maddie replied, taking the handgun.

Mat pulled Captain Enrico's Colt from the back holster he kept it in, clicking the safety off. "Just stay behind Rebecca and I. We've been around this block before. Hopefully we know what we're doing by now."

"Okay" said Maddie.

And they were on their way.

(MAT)

"What happened to the shotgun?" Rebecca asked as they made their way down the deserted hallways, weapons drawn and aimed at the ground, causing them to walk with odd sideways gait.

"It got bent off. I had to get rid of it."

"How did that happen?"

"There was a…situation. I had to leave it behind."

"Care to elaborate?"  
>Mat didn't look at her. "No."<p>

"Are you okay?"

"You asked if I cared to elaborate, and I said no. Therefore, you should be able to figure out that I don't want to talk about it."

Mat wasn't looking at Rebecca, but he could imagine her expression: eyes slightly wide, a hurt look on her face. He stopped and shut his eyes, shaking his head as he let out a sigh. When he looked up, Rebecca's face was just as he'd imagined it, although she also looked somewhat concerned.

"I'm sorry. It's just…this whole thing is a mess, and I'm…not at my best."

Rebecca put her hand on his shoulder. "What can I do? How can I help you?"

He smiled faintly. "You can't. This is just something I'm gonna have to deal with on my own. My head's not in the game, and that makes me worse than useless to you. I've gotta get myself back together. Otherwise, I mi-"

"Nooooooo!" someone screamed from above their heads.

"That's her!" shouted Maddie, darting toward a staircase, her finger (Mat inwardly winced) firmly wrapped around the Browning's trigger.

He started to shout a warning, but instead he just started running, Rebecca right beside him.

They reached the upper floor to find Maddie aiming the handgun uncertainly down the hallway, where a zombie was crawling toward a rather impractically dressed blonde teenage girl. She wore a white dress that had presumabely not been purchased pre blood-stained, along with a pair of black flats, which at the moment were propelling her backwards, away from a truly devastated zombie, one half of his face completely gone, his left eye sitting alone amid a sea of ropey muscles, exposed by whatever cruel teeth had set to work on his face.

Rebecca didn't hesitate. Without breaking stride she brought her Samurai Edge up and put a round through the zombie's head, splattering blood across the front of the poor girl's already stained dress, and causing her to jump in surprise, a shocked squeak coming from her wide open mouth. She sat there, her wide eyes darting from the dead body on the floor to the three people who had mysteriously appeared to her aid.

"I-I saw him in the hallway, and I thought he was okay, but then he turned, and he growled at me, and-" the girl's voice trailed off into a frantic whimper as Maddie stepped forward, offering her a hand.

"It's okay, Liza. You're safe now." Then, when the new girl was on her feet, Maddie slapped her across the face hard enough to jerk her head to the side. "_That's_ for leaving me behind, you little bitch!"

The blonde, Liza, stood there for a moment, her mouth open in shock, one had pressed to her reddening cheek, not corrected the list Maddie had introduced to her skull.

"Well, I see you two know each other" said Mat nonchalantly. "Would you mind introducing your new friend to the rest of the class?"

"Right. This is-"

The blonde girl cut her off, at least temporarily regaining some of her composure. "My name is Elizabeth Warren, Junior Class President, and-"

"You have gotta be kidding me" Mat interrupted, shaking his head in disgust. "This whole thing has been about scoring points with City Hall!"

Rebecca looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?

"Elizabeth Warren? Don't you pay attention to the news? Politics?"

"Mat, I just moved here, and-"

"And next month is November. This is an election year, and her dad's name is everywhere." Mat jabbed a finger at Liza. "Elizabeth Warren. Daughter of Michael Warren. Don't you get it? This is our target. _This _is who Irons sent us to get."

"He sent through hell so we could rescue the fucking mayor's daughter."


	27. Wild Things

Chapter 24: Wild Things

(REBECCA)

Things were quiet once they got back out on the street. Elizabeth Warren spent a lot of time looking down, while Maddie spent the same amount looking anywhere but at her. Mat and Rebecca, meanwhile, were more concerned with things outside their little circle; eyes darting to every shadow, every darkened doorway, every blind alley. _Anything_ could be lurking on the other side. It paid to be prepared.

Finally, they came to a large square. A fountain sat in the middle, and oddly enough, the water was still flowing.

"Must be pressure-fed" Mat said, pointing to it. "The water must somehow keep pushing itself through the pipes. The power can't still be on in this area, can it?"

Rebecca shrugged. "I have no idea, and besides, that's really not the operative question right now, is it? We have four possible routes. Where do we go from here?"

"Irons said the L tracks had been turned off" he answered. "He seemed to be under the impression we could just climb one of those, then walk to the main RPD barricade on Main Street and First. Irons said we'd be able to find other officers there, and if not, we'd still have a pretty easy trek to HQ. Think about it: zombies can't climb, so we'd have no worries until we had to go back down."

Rebecca nodded; she liked the idea. "Sounds easy enough. There's a problem, though. I have no idea where the tracks are."

Mat smiled. "I suspected as much. Lucky for you, I know my way around the city's transportation system. It'll just be a matter of-Do you feel that?"

Rebecca _could_ feel something: a slight tremor in the ground. "Yeah. What is it?" She looked back at the two girls, who were backing into each other, apparently without realizing it.

"Earthquake?" Maddie wondered aloud, at the same time Elizabeth pointed down one of the four streets entering the square.

"There!" she shouted, indicating a large cloud of dust rising above the pavement.

"What the hell?" Mat asked softly, steadying the Colt in both hands. Rebecca drew her Samurai Edge and did the same. She narrowed her eyes, squinting in the darkness, trying to make out whatever was coming toward them.

Then there was a sound: a long, low below. Rebecca saw Mat tense up and lower his weapon out of the corner of her eye. "I know what this is" he said quietly. "Oh Jesus." He turned to her and the girls. "Go. Run! Before it gets here!"

"What? Mat, what's coming?" Rebecca asked, seeing the pure terror in her friend's face. She'd seen Mat face down zombies, mutants, and other unspeakable creatures, usually with the same confident attitude he'd had when they were kids. To see him shaken now was…troubling.

"It's Oscar" he said quietly, backing away from the fountain.

"What?" Maddie asked, shaking her head. "But, it _can't_ be. I mean, he's an-"

Rebecca learned what Oscar was on her own. Before Maddie could finish her sentence, a massive form lumbered into the square.

Rebecca watched in horror as what must've once been the pride of Raccoon City's zoo swiped at a nearby building with his horribly deformed tusks, crushing a façade with the oddly ridged bones. The elephant reared up on his hind legs, trumpeting into the night air, his trunk stretched over the tops of the buildings, before slamming his front legs down with enough force to cause everyone to fall over.

"You have gotta be kidding me!" Maddie said softly, her eyes wide with horror. "What's he doing here?"

"The zoo must've gotten hit" Mat replied, just as quietly. "Either they let the animals out themselves, or they managed to escape on their own. But look-" He pointed to a strange, tumor-like growth hanging down from Oscar the elephant's belly. "That looks like his intestine. Maybe his stomach. Either way, I don't think he's among the living any more."

"You think he's infected?" Rebecca asked. "How? I mean, he's…an elephant. That's gotta be like climbing Mount Everest for your average zombie."

"Yeah, but what else could be running around out there? Every living thing is a potential vector. And who knows what other BOWs are on the loose?"

"Okay. So what do we do now?" Rebecca asked, crouching down beside Mat, where the foursome was hidden behind the fountain.

"Can't you just…shoot it in the head, or whatever it is you guys have been doing?" Maddie asked.

Rebecca shook her head. "No. We don't have that kind of firepower. That thing is a great big tank with a bad attitude and a case of the munchies. There's no way for us to take it out."

"Then what do we do?"

"We'll have to sneak around it" Rebecca replied. "That thing is big, and it could probably run us down pretty fast if it realized we were there. I wonder what set it off before."

Mat pointed up. "It's the wind. Gotta be. It shifted a few minutes ago. Oscar must've used that vacuum cleaner between his eyes to smell us."

"Hold on" interrupted Elizabeth. "You're afraid an elephant is going to come after us? Elephants don't eat meat. Everyone knows that."

"Well, this one's different" Mat replied. "He's…well, he's not exactly a normal part of the food chain anymore. Now, he'll eat anything that has a pulse. "

"What?"

Mat looked at her in something approaching awe. "Where have you been for the past few hours?"

"I've been locked in the school avoiding the homicidal janitor" Elizabeth replied. "Why? What's going on? I could hear gunfire and screaming earlier. Are there riots?"

Mat rocked his head from side to side. "Something like that. Now, if you want to stay alive, you're going to have to do exactly as Rebecca and I say." He looked over at Maddie. "And you're going to have to get along. Otherwise, we don't stand a chance."

"So, what's the plan?" Maddie asked.

"Quiet's the name of the game here" Rebecca answered, after peeking over the edge of the fountain, to make sure Oscar was still where he'd been a minute earlier. "All we have to do is…uh-oh."

"What's 'uh-oh'?" Mat asked, looking over at her nervously.

"The elephant's gone" she replied simply, eyes already darting around, seeking it out.

"Great" Mat said quietly, looking around on his own.

"C'mon guys, it's an elephant" said Maddie. "Where could it have-?"

She never got to finish that sentence. Suddenly, several tons of elephant was standing above them. Mat kicked out, sending Rebecca sprawling into Maddie, a second before Oscar slammed his two front legs down where they'd just been. Still lying on his back, he drew the Colt and opened fire, his bullets striking the monstrous elephant's iron hide without making much of an impression. He rolled to the side, a second before the elephant could crush him, coming back up on his feet beside Elizabeth.

"Go!" he shouted. "We've gotta split up! Head for the train tracks. I'll find you there!" Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Elizabeth's arm and dragged her away from the square.

Oscar started to follow, only to have a bullet strike the strange tumor on his stomach. Rebecca turned in hurry to see Maddie staring down the still-smoking barrel of Mat's handgun. Oscar spun around, surprisingly fast for something so large, and trumpeted loudly into the air, his angry cry rattling windows of nearby buildings.

"Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea" Maddie chanted to herself. Rebecca grabbed her arm.

"No time for that!" she snapped, jerking her backward. "Run!"

She led Maddie down the square, picking a street exactly the opposite of the one Mat had chosen. The idea, after all, had been to force Oscar to choose which one of them he wanted to follow. Mat had probably been hoping the elephant would pick him; _he_ at least had an advantage, knowing the city streets a lot better than she did. She had no idea how to find the tramway under the best of circumstances, let alone with a psychotic elephant following her.

"Duck!" Maddie shouted, and Rebecca instinctively obeyed. A second later, she felt air rush over her head as Oscar tried to swat them with his trunk. The elephant was close, and getting closer all the time.

"Left!" she shouted, jerking Maddie along behind her. They'd turned into the middle of a side street, and just as she'd hoped, Oscar wasn't able to course correct as quickly as them. She winced inwardly at the sound the mighty elephant made as he lost his balance and slammed sideways into the buildings lining the street.

"Hurry. Before he can get up!" she shouted to Maddie; a moot point, since she was still clutching the taller girl's wrist.

They rounded another corner, took a left, and then paused to catch their collective breaths and listen. They didn't have to wait long.

"No way" Rebecca said quietly as the ground began to tremble. On the other side of the building she and Maddie hid behind, she heard Oscar trumpet into the air. "How does he keep finding us? It can't be smell; there's enough soot in the air to clog anyone's sinuses."

"He's an elephant" Maddie replied. "He has big ears. Maybe he can hear us."

"C'mon, let's get a move on" Rebecca said, pulling her along. "But quietly. No more running. We don't want him to keep following us."

Rebecca rounded a corner…and stopped dead in the glare of a sudden floodlight, which blinded her instantly.

"Lookit wot we got here, Carlos" said a voice, distinctly Cockney and crude. "Couple a' girls, look luike they done run thesselves out fer us already." That raised more than a few decidedly discomforting chuckles from several other people in the unseen group. All men. _Awesome_.

"Now listen here!" Rebecca said, bringing up the authoritative voice she'd been using on bullies since she was eight. "I'm with the RPD-" She started to reach for her badge, only to have a warning click from several different weapons stop her in her tracks.

"Now, oi'll have none a' thet" said the first speaker, stepping in front of the light, his silhouette against its brightness. "Whoi not just han' that over, sweet 'eart?" He took a step closer, causing Rebecca to take a step back.

Beside her, Maddie stirred. "That's far enough, fuckhead" she said, raising the Browning. "Make another move, and you're dead."

There was a sound of weapons cocking from behind the spotlight.

"Go ehead, shoot me" said the first speaker. "Yu'll both be dead afore ahm on the ground."

"But you'll still be dead" Maddie replied. "And you strike me as the kind who doesn't want to end his life over something this stupid."

Cockney probably had a pretty smart reply for that. He started to chuckle, but abruptly stopped, his head pitching upward. Rebecca could hear something whistling through the air. "The fuckin' 'ell is that?"

Some instinct caused Rebecca to shove herself and Maddie to the pavement. The same thing probably saved Cockney, as he dropped a second before a large blue pickup slammed into ground, bounced, pulverized the searchlight, then rolled through the crowd of what looked like soldiers who'd been massed behind it. Rebecca winced at the wet popping sounds accompanying the truck's progress, as well as the anguished screams of those the truck had mortally wounded, but hadn't actually killed.

Rebecca started to get up, but flattened herself in an instant as Oscar charged over them, wading into the disoriented soldiers whose roadblock he'd just effectively crashed.

"Fuck!" exclaimed Cockney, jumping to his feet and opening fire with an M4 carbine, his bullets striking Oscar's skin harmlessly, but joining the cacophony of shots directed at the maddened elephant.

"The head!" Rebecca shouted, standing up and running toward the soldier. He'd been ready to do…God only knew what to her and Maddie a few seconds ago, but he and his comrades were probably their best chance to take Oscar down.

Unfortunately, just as Rebecca shouted her warning, the three Browning .30 caliber machine guns mounted on separate flatbed trucks parked in the street opened up, tracers slamming into Oscar's body and generally making him even angrier.

Several more soldiers ran out into the street, including one in a green sleeveless jacket who looked like he might've been in charge. Rebecca hurried toward him, dodging out of the way of other soldiers ducking, weaving, and rolling as they tried to fight Oscar. She caught up to him just as he was sighting in down the scope of his M4.

"Soldier!" she shouted, causing him to look up and regard her with mild annoyance turned to bemusement. It was the same expression Billy had worn when she'd tried to arrest him back in July. It didn't make her any happier now.

"What?" the solider asked, a thick Hispanic accent in his voice. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a _leetle_ busy here at the moment."

"Shoot it in the head" Rebecca answered.

"No, really?" the soldier replied, shaking his head and re-sighting his carbine. "I had no idea." He fired a few bursts, then shook his head. "Shit, this _elephante _just will not go down…" He turned and shouted over his shoulder. "John, go grab the Tagger!"

The soldier with the Cockney accent nodded. "Right away!" He turned and dashed toward a fourth truck, this one without a machine gun, just a large metal camper shell. He threw open the back door, then scrambled inside. Across the street, one of the machine gun mounted trucks flipped end over end, Oscar having slammed his tusks into it and sent it flying. He caught a lone soldier on the backswing, sending him in the opposite direction. The most Rebecca could say was that he was fortunate; she could tell he broke his neck and died instantly when he slammed into the building and dropped limply the three stories between him and the ground.

Just then John the Cockney soldier returned and began to run toward her and the Hispanic soldier, a strange weapon with chords and wires running all over it clutched in his hands. He was a pudgy little man, and he was out of breath by the time he reached them. "Can oi take the shot?" he asked, eager as a twelve year-old with a new video game.

"Just tag the bastard" the lead soldier replied.

"Gladly" John replied, fitting the weapon to his right hand like an enormous glove. With his left hand, he raised the weapon and steadied, his arm stretched all the way out as he squinted down a small scope fitted to the side of the weapon. "Tag" he muttered softly, firing the weapon.

There was a soft puff from the weapon, and Rebecca saw something fly out of the barrel. A second later, a large red flashing dart struck the back of Oscar's head.

"A dart gun? What's that supposed to accomplish?" Maddie asked.

The lead mercenary smiled. "Just wait."

"Tag" John said, lowering the weapon.

There was a loud bang as the dart exploded, blasting Oscar's skull apart.

"You're dead" he finished, as the massive elephant dropped to the ground, his brain blown to pieces.

"Nice shot" said the lead soldier, patting John on the shoulder…and turning so Rebecca could see the emblem on his back. A pair of crossed swords, on a red and white polygon.

She shook her head, taking a step back. "No…it can't be."

"Rebecca? What is it?" Maddie asked, as the lead soldier turned to face them.

"Well, now that _that's_ taken care of, why don't you tell me who you two are?"

(MAT)

Oscar wasn't following them. It took Mat about three blocks to realize that, and only then because he noticed he could no longer hear the monster on their tails. "Fuck!" he muttered, looking behind him. "He didn't come after us."

Elizabeth looked at him in confusion. "You're saying that like it's a _bad_ thing. Do you _want_ to be chased by a crazy elephant?"

Mat looked her in the eye. "When it comes down to a choice between that and said elephant chasing my best friend, then yes."

Elizabeth looked at him for a moment. "Best friend, huh? How long have you known each other?"

"Now isn't the best time, is it?" Mat replied. "We've got to get a move on. I want to be on that tramway by one hour from now. Hopefully, Rebecca will be able to find her way there too."

"And if not?"

Mat sighed. "My mission is to get you to safety. Much as I don't like it, Rebecca's a big girl, and she's been through stuff like this before. She'll be able to take care of her self." He pointed forward. "Now let's go. The sooner I can get you to safety, the sooner I can go find Rebecca. Until then, stay close, and stay behind me."

Mat stepped back into the street, Colt held low in both hands, walking with a slightly crouched posture. It made him a smaller target, not that he expected any zombies to try to shoot him; it probably didn't help that Elizabeth was walking along somewhat calmly behind him, apparently oblivious to the world.

This part of the city looked like it had seen some pretty bad fighting. To one side sat the still smoldering ruin of what had once been a rather crappy car. A pair of burning fuel drums sat nearby. This was a poorer area; it looked like the local hoods had decided to stage a last stand. Mat could see broken glass from what could've been Molotov cocktails on the street. But while there was a lot of blood in the gutter, there were no bodies. Whatever the local toughs had tried, it clearly hadn't worked.

He heard Elizabeth gasp behind him and looked up, to see a lone figure shambling toward them from an alley. It was a teenager, Hispanic, with long dark hair and torn, ragged clothing: baggy black pants and a truly garish orange t-shirt. Probably a former gang member.

Mat waved Elizabeth to hang back with one hand, inching closer, holstering the Colt and going for his knife. If the zombie saw them, it would start moaning and attract unwanted attention. If Mat shot it, then it would make noise…and the end result would be the same. Alone or with Rebecca, Mat would've just let it be. But he didn't trust Elizabeth's stealth skills. He'd need to do this quickly and quietly.

He was about twenty-feet away when something lunged out of the shadows, grabbed the zombie, and dragged it back into the darkness. There was a brief crunch, then a wet slurping sound. Mat froze, one hand touching the hilt of Rain's knife, the other half raised.

Behind him, he heard Elizabeth began to quietly sob, and half turned to quiet her down…only to see the hideous insect standing less than six feet away. "Oh" he said quietly, watching the monster watch him. It cocked its head to one side, its antennas flickering, as if it wasn't sure what he was. Since Mat was similarly uninformed about the nature of the bug, he stared back.

Unfortunately, the mutual misunderstanding was short lived. Elizabeth, apparently unable to contain herself any longer, let out an ear splitting shriek. Instantly the bug was on the attack, spreading its four upper arms out, lumbering awkwardly toward Mat on its two lower appendages.

Mat had the M1911 out and up in one smooth motion. "Elizabeth, run!" he shouted, firing three rounds into the bug's center mass. The heavy .45's tore through the monster's thick carapace like it was a dry leaf, causing it to explode with a brittle crack. The bug dropped to the ground, flailing its arms wildly in the air and screaming desperately. Mat shot it again, this time through the head, not so much out of misguided mercy as to make the damn thing shut up. Then he looked up to see the other bug, the one he'd spotted in the alley scuttling toward him on all sixes. He shot it twice in the head, didn't bother to finish it off, and turned to run, only to find his way blocked by a _third_ creature, this one with a long, sharp appendage extended from its mouth, like some sort of obscene straw. Acid dripped from the strange sucker, and that was all Mat needed to see. It was clear these weren't accidental mutations. Umbrella had released still more BOWs into Raccoon City, and now he was up against one of them.

He shot the thing in the middle, causing it to stagger back, but not actually putting it down. Mat's pistol clicked at him unhelpfully, and it took him a moment to remember he was firing the Colt, and not his higher capacity Browning. He was empty. And he was about three seconds away from being dead.

The thing lunged at Mat just as he fished out a new magazine. Without pausing to reload, he slashed across the thing's head with his knife, severing the sucker the bug had aimed at his face. The monster recoiled, rubbing at its face with one hand. Mat slid a loose round into the Colt's chamber, then locked the slide back, before ejecting the empty magazine and slamming in a fresh one. He only had two; he couldn't afford to drop either of them.

He didn't waste ammo shooting the struggling monster. He kicked it out of his way, then ran past it, in the direction he desperately hoped Elizabeth had taken. If she was dead, then this was all for naught…

But no, dead people don't scream, and whoever was up ahead was either Elizabeth Warren, or auditioning for her role in the movie they'd probably make a few years from now about the Raccoon City disaster. Mat lowered his head, trying to go as fast as he could toward the sound of that cry.

He barreled through a partially open door in a derelict apartment, past the ragged curtains fluttering in a broken window, and stepped out into what had once been a nice courtyard. Now it was run down and neglected, the fountain in the middle (_another fountain?_ Mat wondered) cracked and broken.

Elizabeth was there, and she wasn't alone. A group of about ten young men surrounded her, all wearing various shades of orange and black. Mat paused for a moment, trying to remember which gang's colors those were.

One of them was trying to force Elizabeth onto the ground. To her credit, Elizabeth wasn't going to have any of that. She kicked him hard between the legs, causing him to fall to his knees, coughing and doubling over. Another thug belted Elizabeth across the face. "Let's just waste this _puta_" he said, pulling the charging lever on a Skorpion machine pistol.

"Bad idea" Mat ground out, leveling the Colt on the tough with the East Bloc TMP. "Touch her again, and your head's comin' right off."

One of the other thugs pointed to Mat. "Well, looky here. Looks like we got ourselves a pig. And you know what we do to pigs?" He flicked out a switchblade and stepped forward.

"Now, now" Mat said, not shifting his aim from the guy with the Skorpion. He was the greatest threat. "You don't look like you've been burdened with an overabundance of education, but even you dumb shits have gotta know not to bring a knife to a gunfight."

They were closing in, Mat noted. Two had baseball bats, one of which had nails driven into its surface, and blood dripping off its new teeth. Better than even odds it had been used to kill a zombie, which meant if it hit him, he was dead no matter what. The others had a motley assortment of blunt and sharp weapons, although one was carrying a CZ75. Mat was somewhat concerned. There were an awful lot of Soviet weapons with this group, and there could be somewhere lurking out of sight with an AKM assault rifle, ready to hose him down if need be. This wasn't good.

"I just want the girl" he said, pointing to Elizabeth, who was cautiously picking herself up. "No body has to die here. Just let her go, and we'll be on our way."

The thug with the Czech pistol snorted. It looked like he was in charge. "We ain't afraid a' dyin'. But if folks gonna die here, you gonna be one of 'em. This is Wild Things territory. Shouldn'ta stuck ya nose in where it don't belong, pig."

_Wild Things_ Mat wondered. That was a gang he'd never head of. _Who the hell are these guys? _"Like the little kid's book?" he asked.

That earned him a growl from one of the thugs, the one with the nail-bat.

"C'mon, let's rush this fucker" said the tough. "That's a .45, an I've been wantin' one a them. Only got a seven round clip, so assuming he's a perfect shot, that still means he's empty fore he's killed alla us."

"Dumb fuck, this is an extended _mag_" Mat bluffed. "Nine rounds, plus one in the chamber. I can do this."

"Bullshit" said the thug with the bat.

"Maybe" Mat replied, shifting his gaze back to the asshole with the Skorpion, who had unfolded the weapon's stock and was aiming down his TMP's sights. "Do you wanna find out?"

The thug with the Skorpion started to take a step forward…then his head abruptly exploded. He fell backwards, knocked Elizabeth off her feet, and probably saved her life as more fire poured into the courtyard. Mat through himself flat as Mister CZ took three rounds in the chest and dropped like a broken puppet. Its two gun hands abruptly shot down, the other Wild Things turned tail and fled, several of them dropping their weapons in their eagerness to get away.

Mat cautiously stood up, holstering the Colt and making his way toward Elizabeth. He roughly kicked the nearly headless body of the dead thug aside, then helped her up. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded, her eyes wet. "Yeah…" Then the realty of what had just been averted sank in. "Oh, _God_!" she sobbed, and grabbed Mat, crying into his chest.

Mat looked around uncomfortably, trying to figure out where their mysterious benefactor was. "Much obliged to you" he said casually as Elizabeth finally wound herself down. "That was some nice shooting." He stooped and picked up the Skorpion, checking its load. It had a ten-round .32 ACP magazine attached, and its former owner had two more. The weapon was something of a bad joke, and _nothing_ anywhere near as good as his P90. Mat felt a little like his being unfaithful to his SMG by picking up the Czech weapon, but it was better than nothing. Cautiously he made his way over to where the dead tough with the CZ was, deciding to add that weapon to his arsenal as well.

_.40 cal, fifteen round mag, six left in the weapon, and…three backups_ Mat tallied after patting the body down. Reloading the Czech handgun and stuffing it into his jacket pocket, he turned to address the courtyard. "Well, it's been fun, but we really should be going-"

The sound of gravel crunching behind him caused Mat to spin around, Skorpion awkwardly raised to his shoulder, only to be met by a man in a torn suit aiming an M4 carbine at him.

"You look pretty good for a dead guy" said Mat, not lowering the weapon.

"Funny" replied the newcomer in his gruff yet familiar voice, stepping to the side. "I could say the same to you. How'd you survive the train?"

"Premature disembarkment" Mat replied, mirroring the other man's movement. "What about you? I heard you were…zombie food."

The man snorted. "Well, then you heard wrong, Dawson. Now, let me be the bigger man" he added, lowering the M4. "Now, why don't we come to some sort of agreement? Things around here have gone to hell in a hurry. We should work something out."

Mat sighed, lowering the Skorpion. "Fine. But only until something better comes along. You may've saved our lives just now, but I still don't trust you. Some time soon, we're gonna have to reevaluate this little partnership."

"Still jealous of my good looks and general manliness?" Billy Coen shook his head. "Some things never change." Without waiting for a response, he slung the carbine and began to walk away. "Well, what are we waiting for? I heard the RPD is making a stand in this direction. Probably not a bad idea to head that way?"

Elizabeth sent Mat a worried glance. "Don't worry" he said, trying to be reassuring. "I've worked with this asshole before. He's harmless…mostly."  
>"Mostly? What's this 'mostly' business?" she asked, eyes wide.<p>

"Well, he may've killed some folks a while back…"

"_What_?"

Mat started walking toward Coen. "Don't worry. If he gets out of hand, it will my _pleasure_ to shoot him."

"I heard that!" Coen shouted over his shoulder, his voice sounding oddly amused.

"Good!" Mat called back. Babysitting duty, and now an escaped convict to keep an eye on, all while Rebecca and the other girl were who knew where. Mat sighed. _Same shit, different day._

Well, Merry Christmas folks! I'm sorry I'm late both on that and getting this up; it's been a crazy week…Anyway, you know the drill: read, review, favorite if you liked it, all that good stuff. See ya around!

-Godzillafan93


	28. Oscar Mike

Chapter 25:  
>Oscar Mike<p>

(REBECCA)

It took Rebecca a minute to regain her composure. The Umbrella soldier kept staring at her expectantly, probably thinking the little girl with the loud mouth was out of her depth. She hoped the horror at seeing his corporate affiliation wasn't clear on her face.

At last, Maddie saved her. She stepped forward, putting herself between the stranger and Rebecca. "I'm Maddie Blackwell, and this is Officer Rebecca-" her voice trailed off, and Rebecca remembered she'd never told the girl her last name.

"Chambers" she finished. "With the Special Tactics and Rescue Service." Which was not, strictly speaking, true. STARS was done, and she had no idea where Irons planned to send her…assuming she didn't get dismissed entirely.

The Umbrella soldier actually grinned, and stuck out his hand. "Carlos Oliveira, Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasures Service. We've been sent in to extract civilians, and to backup the local police and any military units they send in."

"You're with Umbrella?" Maddie asked, somewhat late to the party.

Oliveira nodded. "That's right. Why?"

"My dad works for them" she replied. "Frank Blackwell. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Oliveira snorted. Rebecca suspected he wasn't didn't move in the same circles as Maddie's dad. "No, sorry. Is he still in town?"

Maddie shook her head. "No, he and Mom are out for the next few days."

Oliveira smiled. "Well, they certainly picked a good time to vacation. You just stick with us, and we'll make sure you get to see them again."

The guy was charming, Rebecca had to give him that much. The polar opposite of Billy, in fact, who'd come on pretty gruff with her for several hours before he was anything but a surly jerk, albeit one who saved her life repeatedly. She had a feeling this guy was going to be the opposite: all nice and considerate, right up until he decided to kill her and Maddie. She wasn't going to let that happen.

Oliveira turned to survey the devastation, shaking his head and muttering to himself in something that clearly wasn't English, but didn't sound like Spanish, either. Whatever he was saying, he seemed genuinely upset by the deaths of the men under his command.

Rebecca counted four: the one she'd seen slammed into the building, one from the flipped truck, and two more who'd either been trampled by Oscar or similarly crushed by some other means. There were a few other injuries, some pretty serious, and despite herself, Rebecca couldn't turn a blind eye to that.

"I'm a field medic" she told him. "Let me take a look at your men."

His expression turned to one of pure gratitude. "Of course." He gestured toward a truck, this one with a camper shell over the bed.

Rebecca headed in that direction, unzipping the bag Mat had given her what seemed like ages ago. She'd had a couple of Umbrella First Aid Sprays on her person, and these she'd transferred to the bag as soon as she got it. Aside from them, though, she wasn't carrying much in the way of medical supplies. She hoped the Umbrella troops were better stocked.

There was a man lying on the dark bed. He was shuddering slightly, and kept muttering to himself in Russian. Rebecca looked over at Oliveira, unsure of what to do.

"That's Lieutenant Victor" he explained. As if sensing Rebecca's unasked question, he shook his head. "Don't worry, he's not bitten. We know about that…now. We've taken to…euthanizing anyone infected. Most of the time, they ask for it. When they don't…well, I'm not enjoying being in charge, so anything you can do to get the Lieutenant back on his feet will be perfectly fine with me."

Rebecca nodded, moving aside as two more wounded men were loaded onboard. One was pale and clearly in shock, his face sweaty; she had no idea what was wrong with him. The other man's legs were both hopelessly crushed; she knew he was going to die, and do it slowly and painfully. She pointed to the officer. "What's wrong with him?"

Oliveira shrugged. "I don't know. He and two others dismounted to scout ahead. We heard gunfire, but by the time we got there, the others were gone and Lieutenant Victor was on the ground, bleeding out. Before he passed out, he said something about a 'big tongue.' I just assumed he was delirious."

"How do you know he wasn't bitten if you weren't there?"

"There's a big puncture wound on his chest, officer" he replied. "We bandaged it as best we could, and sprayed it with some of that aerosol stuff they sent us in with. Aside from that, we didn't know what to do."

Rebecca nodded. It didn't look like there was much she could do for him his men hadn't already. But if she could get somewhere with better equipment…"We need to get him to the police HQ" she explained. "We'll have better medical supplies than what I'm carrying."

Oliveira nodded, as if that was what he'd been expecting. "What about Nick and Matt?"

Rebecca started briefly at the mention of her friend's name, before it registered Oliveira was talking about the two wounded soldiers. She stepped back from the truck, hopefully out of earshot of the two men inside, then pointed to the pale one. "He's in shock; likely internal bleeding of some sort. If he's going to survive, we'll need to keep him awake until we can get to the precinct."

"What about Matt?"

Rebecca sighed, looking down at the soldier with the ruined legs. "Make him comfortable" she said, not meeting the Umbrella soldier's eyes. "There's nothing I can do."

"Is he in pain?"

She nodded. "I'd imagine so. And he'll loose both of those legs no matter what we do; even then, it probably wouldn't be enough by the time we got him somewhere safe. I imagine the hospitals are pretty bad right now."

Oliveira nodded. "Yeah, we passed by one of those on our way here. It wasn't pretty." He shook his head, then looked down at Matt the Umbrella commando. Rebecca remembered Mat had encountered some soldiers like these in the Hive, and they'd helped him to escape that nightmare. Maybe she could trust these men. _This Carlos guy really does seem genuine_ she thought.

Oliveira leaned forward, gently waking the injured soldier. "Matt, you with us?"

The man nodded. "Yeah Corporal, although I wish I wasn't" he said weakly.

Carlos nodded slowly, and Rebecca could see the sadness on his face. "Well, _mano_, I've got some good news. I'm gonna help you go to sleep."

A smile ghosted across Matt's face. "Sleep" he said blearily. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

Carlos smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Okay, Matt. Here you go." Slowly, he pulled a syringe out of his pocket, then slid it into the soldier's arm. Matt shuddered for a moment, then was still, his face relaxed and at peace. Carlos turned to look at Rebecca. "We'd already given him a couple syrettes of morphine; after that, it gets into the lethal range. This way…he doesn't hurt any more, does he?"

Rebecca nodded. "No, he doesn't." Ethically, morally, she deplored euthanasia. It was medicine's job, _her_ job, to make people better, not to kill them. Sure, she'd been forced to shoot infected, but that had been to protect herself. Besides, those people were already dead.

But despite herself, she couldn't fault Carlos for his actions. Maybe it was the fact that he looked genuinely upset about it. Or maybe Rebecca knew, in the end, it had been the merciful thing to do.

"C'mon" he said, gesturing her toward the cab. "You and the other girl can ride up front. It's extended; there will be plenty of room, and besides, we'll need you to get us to the station." He pitched his voice higher, so the others could hear him. "Let's go, guys. We need to get a move on."

Rebecca waited for Maddie; then they climbed into the cab of the truck together. Other Umbrella soldiers did the same, until at last the three surviving vehicles were loaded. Then, at a signal from Carlos, they started to roll, forming a column that headed out of away from the temporary camp and back into Raccoon City. She hoped linking up with the Umbrella forces meant help was on the way, and her time on the streets of the necropolis was almost over. She prayed Mat and Liza were safe, wherever they were. But she couldn't do any more for them.

Carlos was seated to the right of the driver, one leg propped up on the dashboard, his M4 leaning across his knee. He pulled a small, portable radio off his hip, then pressed a button on the side. "Command, this is Oliveira. Over."

A crackle of static. "Oliveira, this is command, we read you. What's your status, over?"

"We've been through the ringer. We ran into a cop and a civilian, along with an infected elephant. We managed to take it down, but we lost Phillips, Cruz, Namakwa, and Jones, along with one of the technicals. We're Oscar Mike right now, heading for the RPD's main HQ. The officer we picked seems to think we'll able to link up with police forces therefore. Do you have visual, over?"

"Negative, Oliveira. There's too much smoke from all the fires. Our UAV can't penetrate it, and the satellite's already passed you by. It won't be over Raccoon City for again for another few hours. Sorry, over."

"Understood, command. What about exfil or resupply? There are a _lot_ of crazies out there, and I don't know if we brought enough ammo to kill them all. Over."

"Sorry, Oliveira, but you're just gonna have to make do with what you have. Command out."

Carlos looked at the dead radio for a minute, then shrugged and slid it back onto his belt, before looking over his shoulder at Rebecca. "Well, looks like this is where things get interesting. What about you, officer? Got any way to get in touch with your people, tell 'em to expect more people for dinner? At least we'll be able to bring enough food for one course, but I'm concerned we're going to have to start living off the land after that."

Rebecca started to shake her head, before remembering the radio Mat had given her back at the school. "Hang on, I think I may have something" she said, reaching into the bag. She pulled the radio out a second later, then pushed the button. "Attention RPD, this is Officer Rebecca Chambers from STARS. Do you read?"

There was a pause, then a brief crackle of static, followed by a voice. "-becca? Whe… y…? Breaking…Can't…clear signal…far away. Over."

"Mat? Mat, I can't understand what you're saying. Can you repeat that?" She paused, then added, "Over."

"In…rence. Can't…signal…" The rest dissolved into impenetrable static.

Carlos looked at her radio. "It sounds like you're too far away. These little things don't have much signal. Who was he, anyway?"  
>"My…partner" Rebecca said, after a moment's thought. It was the simplest explanation. "We got separated when the elephant attacked. We agreed to meet back up at the HQ building, but if you think we can go look for him…" Her voice trailed off, a thin note of hope in it.<p>

But Carlos shook his head. "Sorry, but I can't risk it. Not if there's a chance some of my men might still make it. You understand, right?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah. Besides, Mat's been through situations like this before. He'll be able to take care of himself."

Carlos looked at her for a moment in confusion, clearly wanting to know when Mat had ever encountered zombies before. Rebecca, though, decided it would probably be better if she didn't mention his employer's wrongdoings just then. Instead, she decided to change the subject. "Do you know how to get to the station?"  
>Carlos smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, but I've never been here before. Lieutenant Victor has all the maps memorized, but we can't talk to him right now. Can you guide us in from here?"<br>Rebecca shook her head. "Sorry, but I just moved here a few months ago myself. But Mat _did_ tell me to follow the elevated train tracks. He said they'd lead right back to where the police have set up their main barricade. So if we can find those…"  
>Carlos nodded. "Right. But I suppose you don't know where those are, either?"<p>

Rebecca looked down in embarrassment. "No. Sorry."

"I do" said Maddie, who had, up till now, been completely quiet. "I ride the L home every day. I have the route pretty much memorized."

"How 'bout that?" said Carlos, turning to the driver. "Yuri?"  
>The other soldier nodded. "I heard. Just tell me where to go."<p>

"Okay, first you'll want to take a right here, then a left coming up…"

Rebecca sat back in the seat, for the first time in a few hours able to relax a little. The end of her ordeal in Raccoon City looked to be just in sight. All she had to do was get back to the station, and everything would be okay. She just hoped Mat was having as easy a time as she was.

(MAT)

Oddly enough, the CZ fit almost perfectly into the Browning's holster. Mat suspect it was because the Czechs had known a good weapon design when they saw it, and coming from a socialist nation, weren't especially worried about copyrights. The two weren't_ exactly_ the same: the CZ fired a slightly larger round, and had a slightly smaller magazine; it was clearly a knock off of a superior gun, albeit a pretty good one.

The Skorpion, on the other hand…

Mat had no idea why on Earth someone would waste money on such a weapon. It was a fully automatic pistol that, as best he figure out, was designed to be fired by a toddler. He wasn't a big guy, but even he was already experiencing discomfort keeping it ready to fire, with the stock shoved against his shoulder. He couldn't imagine what the Soviet tankers who'd first been issued the weapon had thought.

He'd encountered a blog a few months before his posting to Raccoon City. He'd been searching for information on weapons, and had eventually stumbled upon Fabrique Nationale's Project 90, and the P90 from there. While researching the weapon, he'd encountered a truly bizarre webpage, which had analyzed various weapons. For the most part, the author didn't seem to like anything made in the last twenty years. The British L85 bull pup rifle, for example, was deemed "the shame of Her Majesty's Armed Forces," while submachine guns like the MP5 and P90 were inferior to the "much more lethal" Soviet designed weapons, such as the clearly superior Skorpion. Having never seen one before that day, Mat was nonetheless taken aback by the idea that a tiny SMG firing an even smaller bullet with a capacity less than most modern semi-automatics was somehow better than a fully-automatic 9mm or a 50-round armor piercing gun about the same size. Having held the Skorpion for the past few minutes, he was beginning to see just how right he'd been.

Coen had taken point, the M4 cradled in his arms, where he could bring it up quickly if need be. Mat walked behind him, Liza all but inside his pocket, trying to stay as close as possible. Mat suspected that was less a matter of her finding his company enjoyable and more a matter of what had almost happened the last time they split up.

Coen seemed to know where he was going, but Mat wasn't especially interested in following him all over creation. "Where are we headed?" he asked, quickening his pace to get closer to the former Marine.

"I'm taking you two to the police barricade north of here" he said.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Mat asked.

Coen gestured vaguely ahead, but didn't say anything.

"Seriously? That's your best answer?" Mat shook his head. "Well, fortunately for you, _I_ know a shortcut."

Coen's shoulders tensed for a moment. He stopped, then slowly turned to face Mat. "And what would that be?"

Mat didn't answer. He just pointed up, at the rickety wooden platform above them.

Coen's eyes narrowed. "You're shitting me. There's no way I'm going up there."

Mat shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I'm not especially interested in trekking all over Raccoon City like this is all some sort of holiday. The elevated train tracks will take us right to the RPD's barricade; all we'll have to do from there is find a way down."

Coen thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine, we'll do things your way. For now. But if you think I'm gonna take orders from a little-"

"Then don't come" Mat said simply. "It won't break my heart any. And I don't need your help anymore. I've been around this block before."

Coen looked like he was about to whip out a hot reply, but stopped when they heard a loud buzzing. "What the hell is that?" he asked.

"Oh, radio! Right" said Mat, remembering the one he'd picked up from the armored car at the school. He pulled it out of his pocket just as a voice began to come through.

"At…PD…This…Cham…STARS…you…?"

The voice sounded familiar. Mat hit the TRANSMIT button. "Rebecca? Where are you? You're breaking up. I can't get a clear signal. Over."

The next transmission was even more garbled than the first. The only words Mat caught were his name and "repeat."

"Interference!" Mat shouted at the radio. "There's too much, I can't get a clear signal. Are you okay? Over."

Coen shook his head. "You're too far away. You won't be able to get a signal on that little thing anyway."

Mat angrily shoved the radio back into his pocket. "No shit" he said, turning to head for a set of wooden steps leading up to the elevated train platform.

"That was Rebecca, wasn't it?"

Mat stopped, then nodded. "Yeah. We got separated earlier, but I'm hoping she'll find her way back to the RPD building. If not, then as soon as I drop Elizabeth here off, I'm going back out to look for her."

Coen stood there in silence for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Well, if she's not there when you get back, then I'll help you look for her."

Mat's eyes narrowed. "Why should I trust your motives? You were all ready to kill us both on the train back in July. Why the change of heart?"

Elizabeth was watching the exchange, her eyes wide with confusion and a little bit of fear at the sight of two men with guns arguing with each other.

"I never wanted to kill you two" he said at last. Then he looked Mat in the eye. "Have you ever killed someone?" Mat shook his head. "Then you don't know what it does to you. I'm trained for it, but I don't go out of my way looking for people to put in body bags. It's not my style."

Mat resisted the urge to make a crack about Africa; Coen had a better automatic weapon than he did, and he _had_ just saved he and Elizabeth from certain death. And he seemed sincere. "That doesn't answer my question" he said instead. "I wanna know: why are you suddenly a good Samaritan?"

Coen just sent him a look. "I don't owe you an explanation. I don't owe you anything. Now, do you want my help, or not?"

And that was what it boiled down to. Either Mat told Coen to get lost, or he spent the next few hours afraid he was going to get shot in the back. Neither option was particularly enticing, but if he had to pick the lesser of those two evils… "Fine" he said at last. "Come on. Just stay in front of me. I want to keep an eye on you."

Coen let out a long suffering sigh, but nodded. "Fine. But at some point you're going to have to get over this stupid grudge you're holding against me."

"Sure thing" Mat replied, gesturing with the barrel of the Skorpion. "Just as soon as you're out of my life for good."

The steps up to the train platform were rickety, and Mat was amazed someone hadn't managed to fall through them. He wasn't particularly bothered by heights, but he was already longing to be back on solid ground before they were even half-way up.

Coen didn't seem to be especially bothered by their predicament, although he did pause to spit over the side, then whistled softly. "_Damn_, that's a long way down."

"No shit" Mat said irritably, then turned to Elizabeth, who'd fallen a little bit behind. "You still with us?"

She nodded weakly. "Yeah…I'm just not much for heights."

Mat thought for a minute, then held out his left arm. "Here. Just hold on to me until we get to the top. Once we're up there, it'll be just like walking on a bridge."

Liza smiled, then grabbed his arm, a little more tightly than he'd anticipated, her finger nails digging into his skin. "Thanks" she said.

Mat grit his teeth. "You're welcome."

"C'mon, while we're still…living" Coen shouted; in their pause, he'd climbed two flights of stairs, and was now shouting down to them.

"You ready?" he asked.

Elizabeth nodded.

"Good. Let's go. We're almost there."


	29. Trust

Chapter 26: Trust

(MAT)

They'd been up on the elevated train tracks for only about fifteen minutes, and already Mat was convinced Elizabeth planned to squeeze his arm off. He hadn't quite grasped how badly she was afraid of heights, and was beginning to regret this whole strategy.

Coen was still a few feet ahead of them, jogging along, M4 held diagonally across his chest, now a care in the world. Mat wanted to kick him over the side, just for being so at ease. Some of Eliza's fear was starting to rub off on him.

"It's okay" he said in his most soothing voice, unsure of whether he was addressing her or himself. "These tracks are totally safe. Trains shoot across them at high speeds every day. There's nothing to worry about."

She nodded slowly, as if she'd been thinking the same thing for a while now, but had needed someone else to help make those thoughts real. "You're right. Sorry."

Mat shrugged. "Not a problem." He turned to see Coen suddenly drop into a crouch on the track, motioning for him and Liza to do the same. A second later Mat heard why; several trucks were approaching directly below them.

Through gaps in the track Mat could see them: three heavy-duty trucks, all painted white. Two were large flatbeds with mounted .50 machine guns mounted in the center. A position like that gave the gunner maximum visibility, but also left him exposed to counter fire from all sides. Mat didn't think the trade off was worth it.

Then he saw the emblem emblazoned on the top of the middle truck's camper shell a device he was getting very tired of finding.

"Umbrella?" he muttered. "What are _they_ doing here?"

Billy grunted. "I dunno, but I doubt it's for public relations." He paused. "So you know all about-"

"Yeah. While you and Rebecca were wondering around in that old training facility, I was stuck in a high-tech underground lab. And after _that_, we all ended up in a mansion full of monsters, underneath which there was _another_ lab. These people are the most paranoid folks I've ever heard of."

"They have a pretty good reason to be, though, wouldn't you say?" he replied.

Mat nodded, and for a moment it was easy for him to forget who he was, and who Billy Coen was. For a moment, they were just two guys, who'd shared similar experiences and now had both a common purpose and enemy.

But it was impossible for Mat to forget exactly who he was with. Billy Coen was a hardened criminal, a murderer; no matter how much they might have had in common, there would always be that one insurmountable difference. They would never be friends.

With that in mind, Mat stood up and brushed himself off, before turning to the others. "The RPD building is that way" he said, pointing. "If Umbrella's heading in that direction, then it would probably be a good idea to get a move on, too."

Coen nodded. "Yeah, you're right. The sooner we get to your cop friends, the sooner we can go find Rebecca."

"And after that, the sooner you'll be on your way."

Coen blinked. "Just like that? Rebecca spent a lot of time trying to arrest me. Aren't you even going to _attempt_ to bring me in?"

Mat shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

Mat shrugged. "I have my reasons. And I don't think it's especially wise for you to complain, anyway, is it?"

Coen smirked. "Heh. Funny. But you're probably right." Without another word, he started off down the tracks. After a moment, Mat and Elizabeth followed.

"How do you two know each other?" Liza asked, her voice pitched low, probably hoping Coen wouldn't hear her. "And why don't you trust him?"

"I met Billy Coen back in July, in the Arklay Forest" Mat replied. "It was a dark and stormy night when STARS Bravo team and I inserted into the woods, looking for the killers reported to be hiding out there. We experienced engine trouble and had to put down. We found a train shortly thereafter. A train," Mat gestured to a drunk-looking panhandler stumbling around below them, "full of those…things. Rebecca, Coen, and I had to work together to get away. Eventually, though we got separated; I fell off the train. I never saw Coen again, and when I met up with Rebecca later, she told me he'd died back in the forest."

Liza's eyes narrowed in thought. "He doesn't _look_ dead…"

"No, he doesn't" Mat replied dryly.

"Why would your friend lie to you?"

Mat shrugged. "I don't know. But I intend to ask her as soon as I see her again."

"You know, it's not polite to talk about people behind their backs" Coen called, good-naturedly, over his shoulder.

"It's not polite to listen to other people's conversations, either" Mat called back, his tone just as light. All the same, he didn't take his thumb away from the Skorpion's safety…or his finger off the trigger.

They kept going for the next few minutes in silence. Then, they began to pick up the steadily increasing staccato of gunfire in the distance, a sound that slowly grew both in volume and intensity.

"How far away is that barricade of yours?" Coen asked.

Mat shrugged. "I dunno, I haven't actually been there. But it sounds close."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Liza asked, momentarily forgetting her fear of heights as she ran toward the nearest platform. "C'mon, let's go!"

Mat started after her, but stopped. He could hear the wood creaking behind him, like something was following him…

"Hey, wait!" Coen shouted, but she was too eager to get down from the tracks. Because of that, she didn't see the creature squatting on the each of the platform's awning until it stood. Then she screamed loudly, stumbling backward, one arm raised to ward off the attack she knew was coming. With a shriek of its own, the monster lunged off the roof after her-

There was a loud rattling noise, and the giant bug came apart in midair. Coen lowered his M4, the muzzle still smoking. The destroyed insect hadn't even finished twitching on the ground before he'd grabbed Liza and hauled her to her feet, pulling her onto the platform. "C'mon, before more of them show up!"

Mat started to follow, only to feel something hard slam into his back and send him spinning to the side, slamming down hard on the wooden tracks. He heard Elizabeth shout "No!," but had only dimly regained his consciousness when he saw the dim outline of something insectoid above him, a vicious looking scythe-like claw raised to spear him. Thinking quickly, he brought the Skorpion up and fired the weapon one-handed, tearing into the creature's body with the machine pistol. It staggered backward, away from him, landing on its back and flailing its arms and legs wildly in the air, rapidly transitioning between visible and invisible.

Mat crawled to his feet, turning to see a second shimmering monster standing in the doorway of the train platform. Coen fired a short burst into its gut, then ducked as the creature swung at him, before slamming his M4's stock into the creature's stomach repeatedly. Mat heard exoskeleton crack and the giant bug stumbled backward, allowing Coen to put another burst into the creature, finishing it off.

Then Mat heard something moving behind him and spun around, to see the monster he'd thought he'd killed slowly righting itself, its broken body sliding back together with a serious of disturbing popping noises. Mat fired another burst from the Skorpion into the monster one-handed, only to have the weapon click at him on an empty magazine. "Shit!" he exclaimed, automatically reaching for another, but forgetting where he'd stored them. The monster lunged at him again, and he gave up, throwing the empty Skorpion at its head, dodging in the opposite direction, rolling and coming up with the CZ 75 in his hands. He brought the handgun up and fired four times, the .40 rounds tearing through the bug's upper thorax and head. The monster shuddered under the barrage and went down again, but kept spasming until Mat emptied the rest of his magazine into its body.

Mat ejected the spent CZ magazine, then loaded in a fresh one, the Czech handgun's slide locking into place on its own. He looked over at Coen and Liza. "You okay?"

Elizabeth was shaken. "I-I'm okay."

Coen nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Bastard's fast, though. Ever seen anything like it?"

"No kidding" Mat replied, heading toward them. "And not before today. Things are durable, though, and they keep popping up when it's least convenient." He paused, then clambered onto the concrete platform, ignoring the hand Coen offered him. "Now, onward?"

He never got a chance to hear the answer to that question. Suddenly, the roof of the station exploded down on them, and _another_ monster was landing in their midst. Mat saw hard blue exoskeleton, long blades that snapped into place on its wicked arms, and a huge stinger balanced in the creature's middle. It reminded him of some sort of hybrid wasp/praying mantis.

The thing was a whirlwind of destruction. It slammed the flat of one blade arm into Elizabeth's head, spinning her around and causing her to crash into the wall. It slashed at Mat with another blade, tearing open a thin line across his chest, a small trickle of blood flowing freely. With its huge abdomen, it batted Coen aside without much effort, sending his M4 tumbling over the side. Mat heard it clatter to the street several dozen feet below at the same time he hit the floor of the platform, the monster almost right on top of him.

He raised the CZ and fired into the thing's middle, but he could only watch in horror as the bullet's flattened against its thick armor. He leaned to the left, temporarily dodging a blow aimed to split his head open like a melon, before the monster used one of its hooked feet to pin him to the ground, causing Mat to scream in pain as the small, sharp protrusions dug into his body. Then he saw the monster's other blade arm open like a straight-razor, and knew he was going to die. He didn't see his life flash before his eyes; instead everything suddenly slowed down, and his thoughts became clearer. He found the only regrets he had were that now Eliza was going to be alone with Coen, and that he'd never see Rebecca again. He told himself that was only because now he'd never know why she'd lied to him about Coen-

As if conjured by Mat's thoughts, he saw Coen suddenly tackle the monster standing above him. He felt the pressure immediately lessen on his chest, and lay there for what felt like an eternity in his adrenaline-drenched state, but was probably only a few seconds. Then he realized it wasn't over yet, and climbed back to his feet, weaving like a drunken sailor.

Coen was on top of the bug. It snapped at him with large teeth, so he punched it in the face, then pulled out what looked like a Colt .45 with a ridiculous extended magazine and opened fire. But his bullets didn't have much effect, and the monster seemed to roll into a ball, then kicked out with both feet, sending Coen into the air, striking the roof of the platform, then dropping back down to the concrete with a groan.

The monster jumped back up, then hissed angrily, whipping out both its blade-claws. With a bellow it charged forward…then abruptly stopped when Mat shot it with his .45, staggering backward as the heavy pistol rounds struck its body, the sheer size of the bullets rocking it back on its heels. Mat decided to strike while the iron was hot, and braced his foot against the bug's thorax, then pushed back. It was the same kick he'd been trained to use when breaching a building; there was a lot of force behind it, and it sent the giant bug through the short railing of the platform, then flailing over the side. Mat stepped over to the edge, just in time to see the monster land, the weight of its armor crushing down on it as it lay broken and struggling in the street.

He turned to see Coen and Elizabeth back on their feet, Coen's ridiculous suit stained with blood. Something needed to be said, Mat knew, but he wasn't quite sure _what_.

"You…saved me" he managed at last.

Coen grunted. "How about that? Let's get a move on. I'm ready for this to be over."

Fifteen minutes later…

There had been a battle on Main Street, Mat could see. Judging by all the vehicles scattered around, it had been pretty fierce, too. And judging by all the bodies, pieces of bodies, and discarded bits of bloodstained gear, it hadn't gone very well for the RPD. He knelt down, picking up a broken riot helmet, the flip-down faceplate marred by a huge, jagged crack in the center. He turned it over in his hands, unsure of what to say. Stenciled on the side in white paint, in large, broken capitol letters, like those used on pavement, were the letters SPF.

Mat shook his head, then tossed the helmet aside. It bounced once, then slapped against a partially open car door, causing it to slowly groan closed on its old hinges. The helmet landed on the pavement again, rolling slightly, and that motion led Mat's eyes to a small piece of metal on a chain sitting nearby.

Coen and Liza were standing a little ways away, next to one of the trucks they'd seen earlier. Its once white paint was stained with blood, the dead machine gunner still holding onto one of the weapon's control yokes. Where the other two trucks had gotten to, there was no sign, nor was there a sign of the police officers who'd surely survived the route here.

Mat turned the blood stained piece of metal over in his hands, rubbing it with his thumb, as if not wanting to believe what he knew it was.

"What's the plan, Dawson?" Coen called out. "We can't just stay here all night, man. We've got to…do _something_, right?"

Mat didn't answer; he just kept staring at the blood stained dog tag. He could faintly make out the letters stamped into the cheap metal, but he knew what they'd say; after all, he'd seen this same set of tags back at Emmy's Diner, so long ago.

With a clap of thunder, it started to rain, wiping clean the streets, the blood spilled by the RPD running off into the gutter. Mat didn't look up as the rain began to drum on the helmet by his foot, as it began to pelt him. One question kept running through his head.

_Where are you, Rebecca?_

**Okay, that's Chapter 26.** **Can you guys please start reviewing again? I haven't gotten any new reviews on the two most recent chapters I've posted, and as I've said before, I have no way to judge my progress or how much people like the story unless they actually tell me. Please keep that in mind, and please review. Thanks!**

**Godzillafan93**


	30. Against the Tide

Chapter 27: Against the Tide

(REBECCA) 

To say the RPD was surprised by the arrival of the Umbrella mercenaries was the equivalent of saying the US Navy had been surprised by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor; it did the job, but didn't quite convey the startled exclamations, curses, and general panic that swept across the police lines as the three trucks ("technicals," as Carlos called them). Weapons were trained on the vehicles, only to be answered by weapons from the Umbrella soldiers. Before things could get out of hand, Rebecca climbed over Maddie and jumped out of the cab.

"Don't shoot!" she cried, waving her arms. "It's okay, we're here to help!"

Rebecca saw a big black man standing toward the front of the line, clad in blue/black riot gear and carrying an MP-5 machine gun that looked out of place against his large frame. "I'll be a son of a bitch!" he exclaimed, as he and a somewhat scrawny white officer stepped forward. "You're Chambers, right? The b-kid from STARS Bravo?"

Rebecca nodded. "That's right…Captain" she added, after seeing his rank. "Chief Irons sent me and another officer out to locate some survivors at a school over in Raven's Gate. On our way back, we met up with Corporal Oliveira here and his men." She gestured toward the trucks behind her.

The SWAT Captain, something Welles, nodded. "Well, I'm certainly glad to see you. And your friends will definitely come in handy." He paused, looking over her shoulder at the trucks. "How are you folks outfitted?"

Rebecca heard the truck door slam as Carlos stepped out, his M4 in one hand. "Well, officer, we're a mixed bag. Mostly M4s like this, along with P226s and a few 9mm SMGs. We've got some less conventional stuff too, though, and a Ma Deuce on each flatbed."

Welles nodded. "What about supply?"

"We've had a rough time out on the streets" Carlos replied. "We've all got spare mags, and there's loose rounds and stripper clips in the one truck, but before too long we're gonna have to live off the, er, land, as it were."

Welles nodded, and it occurred to Rebecca that he hadn't asked who Carlos and his men. Either he wasn't inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth, or…_Or he has reason to expect Umbrella to send in troops. And why would that be?_ She didn't like where that line of thought was taking her.

"What about resupply?" asked the shorter cop. He was about Rebecca's height, but she didn't recognize him, even though he was a Captain. Outside of STARS, there weren't many officers she knew.

This officer had a rather high-pitched voice, and was one of the few men Rebecca knew who she could look in the eye. Overall, he looked like a kid dressed in his policeman father's uniform, an image not helped by his extremely young face.

Carlos blinked, apparently taken aback by being addressed by someone who looked like he ought to have just completed seventh grade, but answered a little sheepishly. "I've been on the radio with my command network. For the moment, we're on our own. If my men and I can belly-up for a while, though, we ought to be able to get an airdrop, along with med-evac for our wounded and some reinforcements. We could probably arrange for evacuation for any civilians you have here, or wherever we manage to hole up for a while."

The second officer, who Rebecca noted was also a captain, although he wore a different uniform from Welles, nodded. "Yes, I think we could arrange that."

"Until then," continued Welles, "I want you and your men to spread out on our line. Our guys are getting tired, and could use the backup."

Carlos nodded. "What about our trucks?"

Welles pointed to either side of the barricade. "We can't dismantle these. They'll have to stay outside our lines. We'll use them to anchor our flanks."

"We've got wounded on the truck" he angrily pointed out. "What do you want me to do with them, leave them outside?"

Welles looked indifferent. "You'll have to disembark them. We can't risk pulling off part of the barricade."

Carlos made a face at that, but didn't protest. Instead he turned to soldier who'd been driving the truck. "Already, c'mon Yuri, let's get it done."

The two mercenaries moved off, toward the truck. Maddie walked toward Rebecca, looking confused.

"What do we do now?" she asked, glancing down the street. It looked like the power had been cut here; about three dozen feet away from the lights of the RPD barricade, it was pitch black.

"I dunno" Rebecca replied, honestly. "I'm going to stay here, until Mat comes back, or they decide they need me elsewhere."

"What about me? Should I stay here with you, or-?" It was clear Maddie wanted nothing more than to get away, as far from Raccoon City as possible. Rebecca didn't blame her; that was the same thing going through her mind. But she was willing to cut her some slack; after all, she was just a kid…

_She's what? A year younger than you, tops. She's held together pretty well, but _still. _Why are you coddling her?_ The voice in Rebecca's mind reminded her of nothing so much as her dad; the same angry tone he'd used when telling her to grow up and stop being such a child, something he did often. A part of her wondered what he'd make of her now, the self-possessed young woman who'd battled monsters and maniacs.

But she didn't have time to worry about him right now. There were other, more pressing matters for her to concern herself with.

"No, I think it'd be a good idea to get you out of here" Rebecca answered, watching the visible relief that washed over Maddie's face. And despite the voice in her head, she didn't blame her for how she felt. Rebecca had her STARS training to fall back on, after all, while Maddie really was just a kid. She didn't resent the girl her innocence; she just missed it a lot.

"Let's go find somebody in charge" she said, motioning for Maddie to follow her.

She found the young-looking captain from earlier. He was hunched over a map table, where he and two other police were making notations on its laminated surface with grease pencils. Rebecca couldn't tell from where she was, but it looked as if they were marking buildings off. _What are they doing?_ she wondered, stepping closer.

The captain looked up. "Oh, it's you. Chambers right? I'm Jack Anders. I'm in charge of the Select Police Force. Is there something I can do for you?"

Rebecca was rather taken aback. Her experiences with the RPD's upper management had been less than enjoyable: Peyton Welles was a big, scary, violent man (the fact he'd almost called her "the bitch from STARS" a few minutes ago didn't improve her opinion of him much); Brian Irons was the sort of individual who made her skin crawl whenever she was around him; Albert Wesker had been cold and aloof…right up until he shot her in cold blood. Enrico Marini had been the best; he was a genuinely good man. Naturally, Wesker had killed him back in July.

But Captain Anders seemed different still. He was calm and cool, even in the middle of the nightmare Raccoon City had become. Rebecca could feel some of his calmness rubbing off on her, and she suspected, while Peyton Welles might think he was in charge, it was really this strange little man who was keeping the RPD's barricade up and running.

"Well, sir, it's like this" she began, gesturing to Maddie. "My…partner and were sent in by Chief Irons to rescue civilians trapped at a school over in Raven's Gate. There were only two survivors; my partner's with the other one now, but we got separated. In any case, I thought it might be a good idea to get her out of here."

Anders nodded. "I fully agree. However, at the moment, that's not really possible. We haven't got transport to spare, either for your friend here, or for Corporal Oliveira's injured men. All we have at the barricade right now is enough to evacuate our forces should things take a turn for the worst. If we detach any for any reason, no matter how reasonable, it would mean officers would be forced to stay behind."

"Can't you call HQ and have them send reinforcements?" Rebecca asked.

Anders shook his head. "Communications within the city are spotty at best. We don't even know if the station is still _there_, and we can't afford to send anyone to check. We're on our own here."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Rebecca asked. It couldn't really be this bad, could it?

"All we can do is wait here, either for reinforcements, or until the tide becomes too strong and we have to fall back" Anders replied, motioning for her and Maddie to follow him. "Here, I'll show you someplace where you can be of use."

Rebecca followed him out of the tent. As she was leaving, she thought she caught a glimpse of something shiny atop one of the buildings. She blinked, though, and it was gone. Shrugging inwardly, she hurried after Anders and Maddie.

(NICHOLAI)

Nicholai slowly removed his hand from the scope of the PSG-1, letting out a sigh of relief. One of the officers Umbrella wanted dead, the girl, Chambers, had looked _right at him_. He assumed she'd just seen light reflecting off his scope (_no one_ could have known he was here otherwise), but it was still a tense moment.

Nicholai had killed without compunction, both in service to the _Rodina, _and later for Umbrella. If another opportunity presented itself, he'd gladly kill Rebecca Chambers, or any of the other STARS Umbrella wanted dead. But that didn't mean he was ready now. Right now, he had more pressing concerns, and a more valuable target to eliminate. When Chambers, the other girl, and that foppish-looking police captain had moved on, her resumed his scan of the barricade.

"_Mat tvoyu_" he muttered softly. When he'd ducked earlier, he'd lost sight of the target. Now he'd have to find him again…

Nicholai resolved he was going to kill Chambers. She'd made him waste time, and while it still wasn't of the essence, it still wasn't something he was in the habit of misusing.

_But, first things first_.

(REBECCA)

"This is where we've been collecting the wounded" Anders explained. "In addition to the 'zombies(evident quotes around the word, as if he didn't want to believe it),' we've encountered, or picked up civilians who've encountered, all manner of abominations on the streets. We've been doing our best to treat them, but for some reason they just keep slipping away" he said sadly, shaking his head. "We don't know why."

Rebecca looked at him for a moment, then recognition dawned. _He doesn't know about the virus! He doesn't know what's causing this!_ "What are you doing with those who've been bitten?" she asked, dreading the answer. The barricade had been out of contact with the RPD HQ; they didn't know what was actually going on.

"For the most part, we've been bandaging them up and sending them back to the line" Anders replied nonchalantly. "But there's some sort of toxin secreted in these things. After a little while, anyone who's been bitten gets very weak, and has to be pulled out of the fighting. We've been keeping them here too, but we've still lost a few."

"What about the zombies? What are you doing about them?"

Anders shrugged. "They're tough, but we've found you can keep shooting them until they go down. We send out groups between waves to clean up the dead. Why?"

_This is bad…_ "What do you do with the bodies?"

"We've been piling them up down one of the alleys" Anders replied, sounding a little revolted. "I know it's a bit disrespectful, but it's the best we can do." He looked a little confused. "Why? You don't…want to _see_ it, do you?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Anders blinked. "Are you sure?"

"_Yes_" Rebecca replied, with enough force to be considered insubordinate.

Anders nodded. "Uh…sure. This way."

Maddie sent her a confused look as they followed Anders. "Are you-?"

"Yeah. I need to do this. It's very important. Why don't you wait here? I doubt you wanna see this."

Maddie shook her head. "No, I'm sticking with you."

Rebecca smiled. Despite everything going wrong, it looked like she'd made a friend.

The smell hit them first. Rebecca thought she'd known revulsion in the mansion, where infected researchers and staff members had been left to rot away in the summer height. But _this_ was worse than anything she'd ever experienced in her life. Her stomach did somersaults at the waves of sickly-sweet stench emanating from the alley way. As she got closer, she saw why: there was a pile about four feet tall, and several feet long, of nothing but corpses.

"These are only those who've attacked the barricade" Anders explained, as if embarrassed by the casual desecration of corpses before them, as if _that_ was the worst part of the whole thing. "Any officers or rescued civilians who succumb are laid out flat down the street a ways. Covered, of course. Despite the time of night, there are crows _everywhere_-What's that?"

The pile of corpses was shifting, as if something was struggling to be free of them. "There's someone down there!" shouted Maddie, stepping forward.

Rebecca grabbed her arm. "Wait" she hissed. "It's not what you think-"

She didn't finish that sentence before the zombie burst out of the pile, glaring at them with hideously glowing eyes. It wriggled out of the corpse pile like some appalling, blood red worm, then slid down to the street, where it quickly recovered its balance at spent a moment looking around, flexing the long, claw-like finger nails on each hand, a strange yellow vapor escaping its open, gasping mouth.

"What the hell?" muttered Anders, drawing his Browning and aiming it at the monster. "How did it get in there?"

"It came back" Rebecca replied calmly, remembering what Mat had told her about the zombies in the Hive, and how they got back up if you didn't destroy their brains. She'd read about a process in Marcus' journal called V-ACT, which was the Umbrella name given to zombie mutation. Marcus had hypothesized further changes from the BOW he called a "crimson head" were possible. Looking at the hideous creature, Rebecca didn't see how that was especially necessary. These things were terrifying enough on their own.

The pile began to shudder again, and two more crimson heads poked over the surface, like perverse otters playing in a river.

Rebecca drew her Samurai Edge and shot the first one in the head. It staggered backwards, then threw back its head and roared loudly, causing the pile to stir even more, before rushing forward. Rebecca shot it twice more, though, and it collapsed, its forward moment causing it to slam down hard into the pavement.

"You've got to shoot them in the head!" Rebecca shouted, shifting her aim to the nearest Crimson Head, putting three more bullets into its brain before it went down. But they just kept coming, and Anders was still just staring in shock as they continued to crawl out of the pile.

"What _are_ these things?" he said quietly, taking a step back. Behind him, Maddie drew Mat's Browning and fired, but she wasn't using her sights, and her shots kept going wild.

"What the fuck's going on here?" a loud voice demanded. Rebecca turned to see two SWAT officers running toward them, one Peyton Welles, the other a man she only vaguely recognized. But she immediately placed the submachine gun he was clutching close to his chest. _Mat's P90!_ she realized. _Why does this guy have it?_

"They're getting back up!" the newcomer shouted, raising the P90 and firing a sustained burst into the crowd. Crimson heads dropped down as the high-velocity rounds tore through their bodies, but continued to crawl forward.

"Goddammit Guthrie, I keep telling you!" someone else shouted. Rebecca heard three loud cracks in succession, and three separate crimson heads went down. A third SWAT officer, this one also in riot gear, but with a large battle rifle and a blue RPD cap reversed on his head, was jogging forward. "Shoot them in the head!"

The alley was still seething. Welles took a look, then sighed. "Anders, I told you this sentimentality shit was a bad idea. We should've left the fuckers to rot." He sighed, then pulled a large barreled weapon off his back. Rebecca recognized it as a Milkor grenade launcher, similar to the one Forest Speyer had carried in the Arklay Forest. "Now it's time to clean up."

Welles leveled the weapon and pulled the trigger twice. Two large, burning red projectiles flew into the mass and erupted in a _whoosh_ of flame. Rebecca heard the crimson heads scream, and had to turn away, covering her mouth and nose as the twin stenches of burnt and rotten flesh warred in the air.

Welles slung the grenade launcher, then turned to the others. "There, that's finished. Now what the hell is going on?"

Rebecca knelt down beside one of the closer crimson heads, about the only one that hadn't just been incinerated. "It's the zombies, captain. If you don't destroy their brains, then they'll eventually get back up. And they're faster and meaner when they do."

Welles, Anders, Maddie, the officer named Guthrie, and the sniper whose name Rebecca didn't know all knelt down beside her. Anders reached out and touched the crimson head's claws. "You aren't kidding. These things are nasty looking. We'll need to tell everyone about this." He looked at Rebecca. "You seem to be the expert. Aim for the heads?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Just like a zombie movie."

Welles looked over at the sniper. "Looks like I owe you an apology, Mathison. I should've listened to you."

Suddenly, the barricade came alive as what sounded like every assault rifle, handgun, shotgun, and SMG in the RPD's arsenal, enhanced by the two machine guns Carlos had brought with him, opened fire.

Anders stood up. "C'mon, we've got to-_oof_." A stream of blood erupted from his throat and he staggered backward, flailing. One hand swatted Rebecca's chest, and he grabbed for her like a drowning man, his fingers closing around the dog tags she still wore after all this time. Rebecca realized he _was_ drowning, not in water, but his own blood, as he collapsed to the street, spasming wildly.

Rebecca dropped down beside him, using her hands to try and staunch the bleeding. "Help me!" she shouted, but her voice was lost amidst the gunfire.

(NICHOLAI)

"_Mat tvoyu!_" he shouted as the blue-clad captain went down, grabbing at his throat. Why did he have to stand up _now_? Nicholai saw Chambers kneel down beside him, calling for help, and sighted in on her. The nice thing about a semi-automatic sniper rifle was rapid reacquisition of targets-

BLAM! BLAM!

"_Mat tvoyu_!" he shouted again, throwing himself flat, as someone started shooting at _him_. He remembered seeing the sniper on the ground with the M14, but hadn't taken him into account…and had almost lost his head because of it.

Still, judging by the frantic gunfire coming from below him, it sounded like the RPD was having a rough time of it. Hopefully none of them would survive this incursion. In any case, it was time for him to go.

(REBECCA)

The sniper (_Mathison, Mat's talked about him_) had leveled his rifle and opened fire on something. The others had already moved on, and couldn't hear her shouting.

Rebecca saw the light fade in Anders' eyes, and knew he was dead. She looked up just in time to see one of Carlos's technicals erupt in a huge explosion. She could hear screams coming from the direction of the barricade, and realized things had suddenly gone very, very wrong.

About five seconds later, she saw the first officers running: regular patrol men, along with a smattering of SWAT and SPF personnel. Occasional one would turn and fire at the crowd of zombies stumbling after them, but most were to interested in fleeing.

Rebecca saw Carlos coming toward her, the driver and the mercenary with the dart gun named John close by. He and an SPF officer who bore a disturbing resemblance to Tom Cruise were dragging the wounded Umbrella officer between them. Rebecca saw a few other mercenaries also running. She heard an engine turn over and saw one of the technicals mount the barricade, crushing three zombies and the downed cop they were eating beneath its massive tires.

Mathison reached down and grabbed her shoulder. "Kid, I think it might be a good idea to leave" he said.

"Right" Rebecca agreed, touching Maddie's shoulder. "It's time to go."

The girl was staring at Ander's dead body, his eyes open wide and staring up at the darkened sky. "O-okay" she stammered, before joining the retreat from the barricade.

Carlos pulled up alongside them in the covered truck. "Hop in!" he shouted, gesturing behind him. "Why run when you can ride?"

A hideous, two headed bug monsters leapt down from a building and speared a retreating officer to the ground. One of his fellows turned to help him, only to be impaled by a long, pink spear and yanked into an alley.

"Thanks" said Mathison, motioning for Rebecca and Maddie to climb in. "Mighty kind of you."

Carlos shrugged. "Not a problem, _mano_. Let's just go. I've got a strong desire to be anywhere but here."

Rebecca climbed in after Maddie, then watched Mathison scramble into the passenger's seat, sticking his battle rifle out the window. The technical and a pair of armored SPF vans roared past, headed toward the RPD HQ.

Rebecca watched their lights fade into the distance as a few more officers climbed into the back, wondering what sort of safety they'd find ahead. She'd hoped to meet Mat here; now she wondered how she'd ever find him…or if he'd even be alive when she did.


	31. A Little Respect

Chapter 28: A Little Respect

(BRAD)

Brad Vickers was more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. For a man who wore the nickname "Chickenheart" with, if not exactly pride, at least resigned acknowledgement, that was saying something.

Brad had heard things go bad on TV, when a reporter had first announced the riots sweeping the city. He remembered the night at Emmy's, back in August, when he'd met the other survivors of the Arklay mission. At the time, he hadn't really wanted to believe what the others had said: about illegal bioweapons experiments being conducted on living, breathing people by Umbrella, Raccoon City's largest employer. It hadn't made sense to him at the time: Umbrella started here, after all. Why shit in their own backyard?

But Brad remembered the hideous monster he'd watched the others battle on top of the supposedly abandoned mansion. He remembered how much punishment it had shrugged off, only dying when Chris blew it apart with his rocket launcher. That _thing_ hadn't been a product of nature, Brad was sure.

When Chief Irons had put all the STARS on indefinite suspension, Brad hadn't been inclined to complain. Police work, he'd realized, just wasn't it for him. Fortunately, he lived near the Arklay Tour Agency, a business specializing in helicopter rides in the mountains. They'd been only too happy to hire a former police pilot, even one who was in disgrace at the moment. He'd found the Chungs, the family who owned the Agency, to be most generous bosses: they never complained when he insisted on taking his Samurai Edge to work everyday.

Brad had never been a fan of the little handgun. His, along with the one used by Kevin Dooley, had been based not on the standard Beretta 92FS most of the STARS, but the smaller Beretta Cougar. It had the same capacity (he could share magazines with every STARS except Barry, whose Samurai Edge was a modified Beretta 96), but a shorter barrel, which made the Cougar ideal for concealed carry. Brad hadn't particularly cared one way or the other: he never expected to have to fire his weapon in anger, only on the shooting range (he was a little disgusted to note the only STARS he was a better shot than was Rebecca Chambers, and then only be a small margin).

But that had been before he'd been regularly carrying the little semi-auto. Brad found he could carry the handgun comfortably and unobtrusively underneath his lucky yellow vest, which he made sure to wear to work everyday.

When Brad had heard reports of the riots, he'd immediately gone to work. He still felt guilty about abandoning his team back in July; he vowed not to do that again. Brad Vickers was, in short, doing his best to grow a pair.

He'd planned to show up at the Agency, explain the situation to the Chungs, then offer to fly them and anyone nearby out of the city. He was willing to make multiple trips, assuming the RPD could get to the helipad in time to secure it against the roving bands of zombies in the streets.

He had two close encounters with them: once, he'd scrambled up a fire escape, staying absolutely still until they finally got bored and left. The second time, it had only been through the intervention of a couple of bikers armed with shotguns that he'd managed to get away. He'd thanked the two, offered to give them a free ride out of town, but they'd just grinned and said they preferred to stay. Brad hoped they'd managed to stay alive, but he rather doubted it.

Brad had known things had gone bad at the Agency when he arrived and found the front door wide open. Inside things had been still, though, and he'd stupidly gone to investigate. He'd found the Chungs (or what was left of them) in the back, blood splattered on the walls. He'd left in a hurry, although he'd still heard them beginning to stir on his way out.

The chopper, meanwhile, was on fire. It looked like someone else had had the same bright idea as Brad, but had apparently tried to bring along someone untrustworthy. There were spent shell casings dotting the helipad, along with two thoroughly barbecued corpses from where someone had tried to improperly fuel the chopper. Defeated, Brad moved on, heading for the police station.

He'd managed to avoid the larger bottlenecks; he escaped the massacre at Raven's Gate, and the disastrous RPD route in St. Michael's, if only just. But it soon became clear to Brad that he was swimming upstream. There were too many living, breathing people in this part of town, and that meant there were a lot of infected. He needed to find a place to hide for a little while and let the action pass him by. If he waited until the RPD secured the streets, he'd still be able to help them in some way. He knew he wasn't a good patrol officer. But he was a great pilot, and surely they'd have _some_ use for him.

Brad climbed another fire escape, then settled down to wait. He hoped it wouldn't be long.

(NICHOLAI)

The RPD had left, and Nicholai decided it was as good a time as any for him to be gone as well. He slung the PSG-1 over his shoulder, jerked his USP from its holster, and set off. He could move pretty fast when he needed to, and now was such a time. He needed to get to the RPD HQ quickly, if he was going to kill-

The sudden beeping of his satellite phone brought him up short. A zombie let out a moan of interest and started toward him. "_Chyort_" he muttered, unclipping the radio, looking down at it while he shot the zombie in the head with his USP.

"SILVER FOX" he said, holding the phone up to his ear.

"What is the status of the mission?" demanded a heavily accented Russian voice. "Have you eliminated the target?"

Nicholai took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Colonel. He got away. I'm in pursuit now-"

"Negative" Sergei Vladimir replied, his firm voice leaving no room for argument. "You've failed, Nicholai. I've already sent my own team to the RPD HQ. They'll have to deal with DARK BLUE. Besides, I have another task for you." The big, hulking former Red Army officer went on to elaborate on what he referred to as Operation EMPEROR'S MUSHROOM. When he was finished, he added "Fail me again, Nicholai, and I _will_ kill you. Now go. And be quick. The American government is forcing us to accelerate our plans. You no longer have the two weeks we originally thought."

Chyort Nicholai thought again. _This gets better and better…_ "How long do I have?"

"The American politburo hasn't made up its mind" Vladimir replied. "Don't make any plans to stick around, though. I have a team of security personnel in position at the campus. They'll be waiting for you." Without another word, the line clicked off.

Nicholai stared down at the phone for a moment, wanting very badly to throw it at the pavement and let loose a string of _mat_, the Russian-sub language consisting entirely of swearing. He held off, but that was only because he had an extremely large stock of self control, which he saved for circumstances such as this.

Seething with anger behind his cold veneer, Nicholai started off down the street. Perhaps he'd run into a few infected, or better yet, a few survivors, for him to vent his rage on.

(BILLY) 

"How much farther?" demanded the blonde girl. Billy considered himself a pretty tolerant guy, but he was about ready to bash her brains out, and he'd only known her for about half an hour. How Dawson had managed to put up with all her complaining, he couldn't begin to imagine. Especially since Mat Dawson wasn't especially long on patience himself.

Billy didn't _think_ Dawson was going to shoot him in the back anymore, not after they'd saved each other's lives. But Dawson was definitely still pissed, probably at Rebecca for lying to him. But it didn't seem Dawson was interested in being mad at her (a whole separate mental thicket Billy wasn't even considering venturing into); instead he seemed to want to focus all his frustration on the nearest possible source. And given all Dawson knew about him, Billy couldn't blame him for not trusting him. He just wished Dawson would get over it.

"We're going as fast as we can" Dawson ground out. It was clear to Billy he was loosing patience; the girl didn't seem to get it.

"Ugh, my feet hurt" she complained. Billy didn't really blame her for that; she was wearing black-colored flats, and they _had_ to be uncomfortable. Still, he didn't really want to hear about it. For that matter, the shoes that had come with the suit he'd bought with the money he'd gotten when he sold the Peacemaker to that Kendo guy weren't especially comfortable either, but they were the only ones he had that weren't covered in Marcus puke.

Dawson sighed. "What do you want me to do about it?" he asked.

"Fix it?"

Dawson turned to face her. "Okay, how about this? When we get to the precinct, I'll find you some better shoes. Does that sound like a deal?"

"But what do I do until then?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Billy exploded. "Shut your mouth, you whinny little bitch, or by God I'll do it for you!"

Dawson and the girl stood staring at him, their faces mirror images of shock. Then, with an explosive sob, the girl burst into tears, before taking off running down the street.

"I thought her feet hurt" Billy said sheepishly, looking at Dawson.

"Nice going, asshole" he replied, before sending him a look strong enough to peel paint off a wall and taking off after her. "Liza! Liza, wait!"

"Damn it" Billy muttered, springing after them.

"Stay back!" a man's voice shouted from around the corner. A second later, an explosive rattle of fire from an assault rifle (_M16_ Billy recognized) erupted from an alley.

Dawson had almost caught up with the girl when the shooting started. As soon as the M16 began to bark she froze like a deer in the headlights, a look of horror frozen on her tear-streaked face. A second later Dawson slammed into her, tackling her to the ground and lying on top of her.

But Billy realized they weren't being shot out. Standing down the alley was a man clad in green tactical gear. He was holding an M16 at hip level, gripping the assault rifle like a garden hose. And like a garden hose, he was spraying it into the mob of zombies that had corner him up against the sliding garage door of a bike shop.

"Shoot for the head!" Billy shouted, but the man couldn't hear him over the sound of the M16 and his own wordless cry as the infected closed in. Billy winced as one bit down on the man's arm, tearing away a huge, bloody chunk of flesh and causing the man's screams to change pitch. Ignoring his protests, the zombies forced the man to the ground and began to rip him apart.

Billy raised the Colt and opened fire, putting a round through the backs of two squatting, feasting zombies heads, blasting their faces apart in a shower of blood and bone. The other three stood and started toward him, moaning pitifully. Billy didn't halt his advance, dropping all three before the gap between them had closed. Then he took a look around.

There were two other, equally desecrated corpses lying in the street. One had an MP-5 lying in his lap, the barrel actually melted from sustained automatic fire, the other's limp fingers still wrapped around the grip of a Desert Eagle, the slide on the semi-automatic magnum locked back on an empty chamber.

Billy knelt down beside the recently killed rifleman and checked his weapon, then snorted in disgust. The man had been carrying an M16 with the piddly little 20-round magazine, instead of the larger thirty. A quick pat down revealed he wasn't carrying anymore ammo, or loose rounds, nor was he carrying any other weapon besides a small folding knife. Billy shook his head in disgust. "Amateur. What kind of soldier goes into combat without a handgun?" Then he saw the small, red and white emblem on the hilt of the knife, and swore loudly. "Hey Dawson, these guys are from Umbrella!" he shouted.

"I know" the younger man replied coldly, and much closer than Billy had thought he was. He turned around to see Dawson kneeling down beside the dead sub machine gunner, closing his eyes, Liza standing to the side, her wrists clasped together, her clenched fists under her chin, as she was trying to make herself small enough to disappear.

"Why are you bothering with that?" Billy asked. "These scumbags are from Umbrella."

Dawson sighed heavily. "Until you've met some of these 'scumbags,' I'd like it if you'd keep your opinion to yourself." He stood up and turned to face Billy. But as he was doing so, Billy saw the hilt of a combat knife tucked into a sheath in the small of his back. A knife hilt with an emblem matching the folding knife Billy held in his hand.

"Where…where did you get that?" he asked, sudden horror washing over him. _What if Dawson is working for them? What if he's a double agent, sent to kill me and Rebecca and anybody else who knows what's going on_. He'd read in the paper that every member of STARS Bravo team had been killed in action back in July, except Rebecca. Could Dawson have done that? Maybe he couldn't kill his little girlfriend, or whatever she was to him. Or maybe…_Maybe she's bait for me to reveal myself, so he can eliminate both of us._

"A friend I met back in July" Dawson replied. Then he saw the look on Billy's face, and must've figured out what was going through his mind. "And I know what you're thinking. No, I'm still one of the good guys." He ran a finger along one of the thin scars on across his face. Billy had assumed they'd been inflicted in the train crash, except they looked a little too uniform. More like claw marks…

"I got this trying, and failing to save Rebecca from an Umbrella monster. The only reason we're still alive is because someone else was there to bail us out." He pulled the knife out of its sheath. "As for this, a friend of mine gave it to me before she sacrificed herself to save my life." He pointed to one of the dead men. "And she was one of these guys. So show some fucking respect." He turned to the girl. "C'mon, Liza. Let's get a move on." The two walked away, the girl keeping close to Mat, sending a scared look over her shoulder at Billy, as if she expected him to make good on his promise and kill her.

He struggled for something to say. In the end, he gave up and began to jog after them.

(MAT)

They spent the rest of the walk to the police station in silence. Liza kept irritatingly close to his side, while Coen walked several feet away, doing his best not to look at them. Mat was angrier than he'd ever been in his life. It was only the thought of what Rebecca would say that kept him from blasting Coen's head open.

At last they reached the large, wrought iron walls surrounding the former art gallery the RPD had appropriated as its headquarters. A pair of squad cars and a large red fire truck, the letters FDRC written in spotless white pain across the side, formed a half circle around the gate, like a dam. Mat suspected the idea was to funnel the zombies into a smaller space, where one or two officers with shotguns would be able to keep them under control. At the moment, though, the street was deserted.

"Looks like nobody's home" Coen muttered, apparently to himself, as they stepped forward.

Mat heard the sound of the rifle cocking and reacted on instinct. With his left arm, he elbowed Liza in the gut, causing her to fold up like an accordion as the air left her lungs, dropping to the street. With his right arm, he grabbed the protruding barrel of the G36 and jerked it down, at the same time pulling it forward, dragging the black-clad, biker-like soldier toward him. Mat shoved the assault rifle to the side, then slammed his padded elbow into the soldier's face, causing him to grunt and stumble back. He saw Coen drop kick another as he drew the CZ and aimed it at the soldier he'd stunned, and then they were surrounded by a line of faceless, black soldiers, G36s trained on them.

"Identify" said a cold, harsh voice from one of the helmets.

"You first, assfuck" said Coen, only to get a buttstock across the face.

"Identify" said the voice again.

Mat glared at his reflection in the polished, beetle-like helmet. "Mathias Dawson, Raccoon City Police Department. Now who are you, and why were you waiting for us?"

"The fuck is going on out here?" demanded a new voice, and Mat looked up to see Chase striding toward them, his M14 slung over his shoulder, a look of irritation on his face. "What the-"

"Mat!" shouted another voice. That was the only warning Mat had before Rebecca slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hanging on like an albatross.

"I was so worried" she said, again and again. "I was scared you might've…I don't even know."

Mat tried to put on a brave smile. "You don't have to worry about me. I'll always come back."

"Promise?"  
>Mat put his hand on her shoulder. "Promise."<p>

Then Rebecca saw who he'd arrived with, and he saw the shock wash over her face again. "Billy…"

Coen wore a somewhat guilty expression. He half raised on hand, putting his fingers together and giving a quick wave. "Hi."

Mat saw anger on Rebecca's face. "Hi? Hi! That's all you have to say to me? _Hi!_" Without warning she punched Coen hard in the shoulder.

"Ow!" he exclaimed. "Fuck me, that hurt, you crazy bi-!"

He didn't get any farther. Mat hit him too, much harder than he'd been expecting. Coen staggered back, his nose bleeding. Mat would've hit him again, except Chase grabbed his shoulders and held him back.

"I have whipped whole-_sale_ ass for less than that!" Coen snapped angrily. "You think you can take me, little man? You wanna dance? Then dance, fucker, dance!" He started forward, only to freeze at the sound of someone pumping a shotgun.

"That's enough of _that_" said Brian Irons coldly, surveying all of them as if they were rodents he'd spotted in his garage. He was holding a big 12 gauge at hip level, and was flanked by Peyton Welles and Michael Guthrie, both of whom were aiming SMGs (_my P90!_ Mat realized) at them. His face brightened when he spotted Liza, a smile playing across his face. "Elizabeth, dear. It's good to see you. Why don't you go inside? We've got a bunch of other civilians already, and maybe you'll be able to call your father."

Liza's eyes lit up. "My…_father_? He's alive?"

Irons nodded. "That's right. Come on, let's go try the radio."

Captain Welles locked eyes with Mat. "You and I need to have a talk, Dawson." He looked from him to Coen. "Do we have a problem, here?"

Mat took a deep breath, looking down, trying to calm himself and more than a little embarrassed. "No sir."

Welles nodded. "_Good._ Because I don't like problems. Now, let's get inside. Panther team," he nodded to the black-clad soldiers, "can handle perimeter duty. I have some…things I need to discuss with you three." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

Chase gestured ahead. "After you." He'd let go of Mat.

Mat glanced over at Coen. The big former marine's broad shoulders were still heaving, and the expression on his face clearly told Mat was his intentions were.

Then Mat noticed the emblem on the back of the black soldiers. Despite the conversation he'd just had with Coen, these new Umbrella soldiers made him feel more than a little uncomfortable already. _And what are they doing here?_ he wondered. He'd have to trust Rebecca to fill him in. Until then, he'd just have to trust that everything would work out. So far, that hadn't been the case.

_About time for some change_ he hoped. But not too much. He'd found setting his hopes too high in Raccoon City was only an invitation for disappointment.


	32. Meeting

Chapter 29: Meeting

(MAT)

Mat's hand was throbbing. He hadn't planned to punch Coen quite as hard as he did; he was just so angry, and when Coen had called Rebecca a bitch, he'd finally snapped. He wasn't sure what to do now; they were going to be stuck here for a while, and knowing Coen, he was probably going to have to watch out, or risk being shot in the back. Not a nice addition, given everything else he had to deal with at the moment.

"Panther Team arrived when Corporal Oliveira called for backup" Captain Welles was explaining. He'd been filling Mat in as they walked, but he hadn't been paying as much attention as he should have.

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Carlos" Rebecca answered, gesturing to a Hispanic man with long hair a few feet away. Carlos Oliveira looked like a pretty competent mercenary; he was with Umbrella, but Mat still had no idea who he was or how he'd gotten here.

Welles kept talking as if he hadn't been asked. "Panther Team is handling most of the perimeter security, although we have some of our own rifleman stationed on the roofs, mostly as spotters, but there are also a few marksmen up there. The rest are busy boarding up the windows and most of the external doors, and redistributing supplies."

"Redistributing?" Mat echoed. He thought he remembered David Ford saying something about that, but wasn't sure.

"Chief Irons wants all the weapons and ammunition scattered around the precinct" Welles explained. "That way, if those things manage to get inside again, and we get cut off, the areas will be able to fight on independently."

"But what about resupply?" Mat asked. "And how are we supposed to keep track of how much ammo we have?"

Welles rolled his eyes in disgust. Mat didn't think it was directed at him, though, but at Chief Irons. "Don't question your superiors" he said tiredly. "It isn't worth it."

He led them to a folding table set up behind the counter in the main hall. It was stacked with various random items, including several blank adhesive nametags, two Sharpies, a few batteries, three green shotgun shells, and half a dozen blue RPD hats, like the one Chase had been wearing earlier. Welles handed one to Mat and Rebecca.

"Here, put these on" he said. "Most of the police here aren't in full uniform, and we've deputized several citizens. These are the easiest way for us to tell who's an authority figure and who isn't."

Mat took the hats and extended the band as far as it would go. He'd always had trouble with hats; the damn things never wanted to fit his head.

Rebecca was having a bit of trouble with her longer hair. After a moment, she took a piece of green cord out of her pocket and used it to tie her hair up, fitting the end of her ponytail through the hat's band. The cord also kept her hair out of her eyes, and she nodded to herself. "There," she said, sounding pleased, "much better."

Michael Guthrie was staring intently at Rebecca, watching her fuss with her hair. It was a little creepy, and while she didn't seem to notice, it ticked Mat off. He wasn't sure why; it just rubbed him wrong. It didn't help that Guthrie was still carrying his P90, which hung from its strap at his waist.

"Can I have my gun back?" Mat asked Welles, pointing at the SMG. When the captain nodded, he held up the Skorpion to Michael. "Trade?" he offered.

Guthrie looked away from Rebecca, his eyes coming to rest on the little machine pistol. He studied it for less than five seconds, then snorted dismissively. "Huh, fat chance, Dawson. Besides, it looks like you've finally found a gun that fits your stature." Michael Guthrie was a former soccer star, and looked down on any man smaller than him.

Welles sighed. "Don't be an ass, Sergeant. He's been reinstated; just give him the gun back."

Guthrie muttered to himself, before unslinging the P90 and passing it over. Mat slid the strap over his own shoulder, then rapidly began to synch it up; Guthrie was a lot bigger than he was. Finally satisfied, he handed the other SWAT officer the Skorpion, and the two extra magazines he'd taken from the dead thug. "I suggest you conserve your ammo" he said casually. "It'll run out fast."

Guthrie snorted. "Thanks a lot, asshole."

Welles sent him a look. "Why don't you report to the line." It was only worded like a question; Welles phrased it like an order.

Guthrie snorted dismissively, then stomped away. Welles watched him go, then shook his head. "That one's a disgrace to the uniform." He sighed. "But that isn't important." He turned to Mat and Rebecca. "You two have been outside recently, so you're coming with me. We're having a meeting in Captain Branagh's office, and he wants to hear from people who've seen what it's like out there." Without another word, he headed off down the hallway. Mat and Rebecca exchanged a look, before following.

The watch room near Marvin's office was usually crowded with officers sitting at its dozen or so computers, typing reports and monitoring 9-11 calls. The eerie silence of it was surprising.

There was only one officer in evidence in the long, dark room: David Ford, the RPD's armorer. He was sitting on the long desk toward the center of the L-shaped room, his feet dangling just above the floor. He had an open notebook in his lap, a pen in his left hand as he slowly wrote, an open bottle of alcohol sitting next to him, a stockless Mossberg resting on one of the desk's dividers. He started when he heard the door slam behind them, jumping to his feet, dropping the notebook as he grabbed the shotgun, whiskey bottle falling over and spilling onto the floor.

"Goddammit" he slurred, shaking his head in disgust, staring down at the wasted alcohol, a look of anger on his face when his unfocused eyes returned to them. "Oh, it's _you_" he managed, angry in his drunkenness. "I thought you was _zumbees_."

"If we were zombies, Ford," Captain Welles said irritably, "you'd already be dead. Pull yourself together, or I'll be forced to mistake you for one of the infected."

David Ford blinked drunkenly at the rebuke, then gestured vaguely behind him. "Cap'n's wait_ing_" he managed, swaying uneasily from side to side.

Welles stomped past him, casually shouldering him aside. Mat and Rebecca followed, a little more careful to avoid contact with the drunken officer.

The inside of Captain Branagh's office looked like the world's worst Hollywood party. Branagh bore a passing resemblance to Will Smith, while the SPF officer named Ryman could've done stand-in work for Tom Cruise with little difficulty. There were a few others present as well: Rita, the small, round mechanic from Georgia; Aaron, one of Barry Burton's friends from SWAT; and Tony the dog handler. Mat had no idea why these were the officers Branagh had chosen; there didn't appear to be any cohesive reason for them to be together.

The only person Mat didn't recognize was the tall, blonde man standing in the corner. He had the lean, hard look of a soldier, and the black armor he wore seemed to indicate he was with the Umbrella Panther team outside. Mat distrusted him on sight.

Branagh nodded to Welles. "Peyton. Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Marvin."

Branagh turned to the others. "Well, let's get down to business."

"Major Weis assures me he'll be able to get us extraction. As he puts it, everyone's getting out; we just have to hold the building until the Umbrella airlift can get to us." He looked over at Mat and Rebecca. "You two claim to have some experience dealing with this situation, right?"

They both nodded. "We tried to tell you back in July, but-"

Weis spoke, for the first time. He had a thick German accent, and Mat was immediately put in mind of Timothy Cain, the Umbrella psycho they'd encountered in the Arklay Forest. "Chief Irons has already told me about your insane accusations about all of this being Umbrella's doing." He chuckled, a sound that sounded both fake and forced. "Tell me this: do you think Umbrella would deliberately cause such an accident, then put its own employees at risk to fix it?"

Rebecca started to answer, but Mat cut her off. "Okay. So what do you say happened?"

"The incidents last summer were caused by a terrorist attack on our lab in the Forest, beneath the old Spencer estate. One of the viral agents we were analyzing, an extremely virulent form of rabies, was released during the episode. This led to a biohazard at the facility, and it appears at least one infected escaped. That individual apparently infected a few others, leading to a widespread chain of events leading to the deaths of dozens, including, I believe, most of your STARS team, Officer Chambers."

"Rabies?" Rebecca asked, incredulous. "You're claiming everything that happened in the Forest, everything that's happening now, is because of _rabies_?"

Weis nodded. "Yes, that's what happened."

"If you know all this, why didn't Umbrella do something to fix it? Why didn't you come to the police and explain the situation. You could've stopped all those people from dying!" Rebecca almost shouted, trembling slightly.

"We were a little…slow in reacting to the situation, Officer Chambers. By the time we were prepared to deal with the situation, the mansion had been destroyed. Thanks in part to you two, as I understand it" he added, looking from Mat to Rebecca.

"But that still doesn't explain why you didn't contact the authorities" Rebecca insisted.

Weis made a face. "You're right. Management was…reluctant, shall we say, to admit we'd had a containment issue. The government would've pulled our permits had they learned facility wasn't secure. I suspect, when all this is over, several Umbrella higher-ups are going to find themselves on the wrong side of a Congressional panel." He sighed. "It was, as they say, penny wise and pound foolish. And, as you will recall, the _Ecliptic Express_, a train owned by the company, experienced engine trouble. It appears it was also overrun. The team the company was sending in to re-secure the labs was among those presumed killed when the train derailed."

"What about the Hive?" Mat asked. "The Umbrella lab underground in the Forest. That's where they were going, wasn't it?"

"The what?" Weis looked confused. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I've never heard of a facility anywhere by that name; certainly not here in Colorado. As far as I know, no such place exists. And it isn't possible for you to know anything about the Umbrella team. After all, everyone on the train was killed."

"If that's true," Mat replied, "then explain_ this_?" Without waiting for an answer, he jerked Rain's knife out of its sheath and slammed it down on Branagh's desk. He heard Rebecca and Rita gasp, while Welles, Tony, and Aaron drew their weapons and aimed them at him. Only Weis remained totally unmoved. He just remained where he was, examining the blade embedded in the desk.

"Where did you get this?" he asked after a moment.

"A fried gave it to me, before she died" Mat replied. "Why don't you explain to me how she gave it to me, since she would've had to have died before we met?"

Weis's face was getting redder and redder as Mat talked. "This is not _vhat vhe _are here to discuss!" he spat, his accent becoming more and more pronounced. "_Vhy_ don't _vhe_ get back to the reason you called this meeting!"

Branagh nodded, glaring briefly at Mat for sidetracking things. "He's right. Let's get back to matters at hand-" He went on for another fifteen minutes, during which time Mat slowly began to realize he didn't have any idea what he was talking about. Branagh still seemed to think they'd be able to go back out into the city and start cleaning up. It had apparently escaped his notice that most of Raccoon City was overrun with zombies. There wasn't going to _be_ any retaking operation; sending more officers into that nightmare was only going to result in more officers getting killed…and then coming back. It was worse than useless; it weakened the station's defenses and strengthened the inevitable zombie attack that Mat could feel looming in the not-so-distant future.

He risked a quick glance around the room. Rebecca looked just as disturbed as he felt; she come to the same conclusions he had. He didn't know the other officers very well, though. Ryman and Aaron seemed to be just as disgusted; Mat suspected they'd actually been out in the city. Welles was watching Branagh with only thinly veiled contempt; Mat wondered if the other captain wished he were in charge. Tony, the dog handler, looked distracted; he probably just wanted to get back to his animals. Rita, the mechanic, was hanging on Branagh's every word; Mat suspected it was a combination of naïveté and the hero worship a lot of less experienced officers had for Branagh.

"Well, you all know what to do" Branagh said, looking them all over. "Let's get to it."

Mat was a little confused. Branagh had asked he and Rebecca here presumably to get their advice, yet he hadn't asked them for any. He'd just addressed an apparently random assortment of officers. "Sir-?" he began, only to get a look from Aaron. Puzzled, he didn't complete his thought. In any case, Branagh wasn't paying any attention.

Mat followed Aaron out of Branagh's office as the other police filed out. He noticed Rebecca was following him, but was a little surprised to see Ryman coming too.

Aaron led them out of the watch office, down a hallway past a pair of vending machines, heading toward the RPD's pressroom. Just past that hallway, he stopped and turned to them.

"What's up?" Ryman asked, sounding a little unsure, as if he didn't really want to be there.

Aaron didn't answer him; instead, he looked at Mat and Rebecca. "You too have been out there recently, right?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah" said Rebecca.

"And what you were saying earlier, about the forest, is true, right?"

They both nodded.

"And what do you think of things?"

"It's…pretty bad" Rebecca said, after a moment. "A nightmare."

"Yeah" Mat agreed. "About the only living people I ran into tried to kill me. It's everyone for themselves out there. If Branagh takes us into the city, we're going to be fighting the living _and_ the dead. We don't have enough people left to do either of those, let alone both." He shook his head. "Why is he so intent on a counterattack?"

"I don't know" Aaron replied. "I think he just desperately wants to be a hero, wants to save Raccoon City. He was born here, you know. He loves this town. And he's let that blind him."

"When Irons sent us out into the city, he told me his plan was for us to dig in here and wait for the government to show up. What changed?"

"Chief Irons…isn't in his right mind at the moment. Until the Umbrella soldiers showed up, he hadn't even come out of his office. And even now, he's not really in charge anymore. It's mostly Branagh's show. I like Marvin, but he's out of his depth. And Irons can't rein him in."

"So, what do you suggest?" asked Ryman.

"It's obvious to me that the RPD is going to implode" Aaron replied. "We need to be ready for when it does. Things are going to be bad, and we have to be able to get as many civilians out of here as possible. No matter what, we're still the police. It's our duty."

"What do you mean? Are you suggesting we try to take over the station?" Ryman asked, sounding appalled. "That'd be tantamount to an armed insurrection. If the government found out, we'd be-"

Aaron shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just…be ready to get out of here if things go bad. If the station is breached, and it will be before too long, we'll have to get away, and make sure as many of the civilians as possible do as well."

"Where would we go?" Rebecca asked. "The streets aren't safe, and there can't be a more fortified building in town than the precinct."

"There's one I can think of" Aaron replied. "We heard about it on the radio, before everything went off the air."

"Where?" Ryman asked, sounding interested. Mat and Rebecca were both watching Aaron intently, too.

"The Arklay Lookout" he replied.

Ryman blinked. "The hotel? Seriously? It's right in the middle of downtown! Do you know how many people are down there-?"

"It's also the tallest building in the city" Aaron retorted. "That means it's above the smoke, so helicopters can actually see where they're landing. And according to the radio, there were National Guard troops being lifted into that area. They've set it up as a civilian collection point, where they're airlifting people out of the city." He looked at the others. "Well, what do you think?"

Ryman nodded slowly. "It's not a bad plan."

Rebecca nodded. "You're right. We need to get out of here, and soon. The longer we stay here, the more infected we'll attract. I've…done some research on these things, and they seem to be attracted to large concentrations of food. But that means there will be a log of zombies around the Lookout, too. Too many for us to shoot our way through, even if there are still Guardsmen holding it."

Aaron smiled. "You're a smart girl, you know that." Rebecca made a face at his patronizing tone, but didn't say anything. "In any case, I've already thought that one through." He pointed at the floor. "Down there is the RPD's garage. There are enough armored vans to get all of us out safely. Unfortunately, something's happened to the city's gas lines, and it's caused all our pumps to run dry. There's just no pressure in the line. Unless we can figure out how to fix that, we won't be able to gas the trucks up to go."

"How do you plan to fix that?" Ryman asked. "I thought you were against anyone going out into the city."

"I'm against trying to _retake_ the city" Aaron replied. "Let's face the facts: Raccoon City has been lost since about nine o'clock yesterday night. The sooner we can accept that, the better." He shrugged. "I'm going to hijack Marvin's expedition into the city. I'll explain the situation to whoever he's planning to send out on recon and have them fix the pumps. Once that's done-"

"Once that's done, we'll be able to get out of here" Ryman finished. He didn't sound relieved.


	33. In Dire Straights

Chapter 30: In Dire Straights

(ALYSSA)

"I've got a gun" Alyssa Ashcroft said sarcastically, looking down at the pistol in her hands. "I'm stoked."

The officer snorted, shaking his head. He was a big, broad shouldered man with a scope sighted rifle slung over his shoulder. "Well, if you don't want it, you can always give it back. Plenty of other people want one."

Alyssa held the weapon close to her chest. "_Hell_ no! I've seen what happens when you get cornered by those things. No way is that happening to me!"

The big cop shrugged. "Fair enough." He tapped the handgun with his finger. "This is a Czech CZ 75. It's a piece of shit commie knock-off of John Browning's Hi Power. This one's a .40 cal, so it packs a little more punch, but the trade off is more recoil and a smaller magazine. As a result, I don't recommend you try anything fancy. Only shoot at what you can hit."

Alyssa nodded, slowly. "Right. I'll try to keep that in mind."

The doors at the end of the hallway swung open, and out strode some of the officers who'd been summoned to the short-notice staff meeting. The cop with the rifle made his way over to the black officer, Marvin something. "What's the word, Marvin?"

Marvin shook his head. "Nothing's changed. We're still stuck here until help arrives. I want to send more officers out into the city and try to round up more survivors, but not with us being as short-handed as we are. We'll have to wait here a little longer. Anyone who needs help is going to have to come to us."

Alyssa stood there for a moment, disbelief slamming down on her mind like a downpour. That was the best the police could come up with? Wait and do nothing? _Hell with _that.

Alyssa looked at the cop who'd given her the pistol. He looked just as disappointed as she felt, but didn't say anything. And if all the police were going to be this accepting…

Alyssa turned to Yoko. The poor, quiet college student had stuck pretty close to her since the bar, which felt like it had been ages ago.

"Come on" said Alyssa, taking Yoko's arm. "We're leaving."

Yoko's eyes widened. "Leaving?" she asked, her voice barely audible even though Alyssa was standing right next to her. "Where are we going?"

Alyssa cast her eyes around the room one last time. "Anywhere but here" she said at last. "Now come on, before someone tries to stop us." Without waiting for a response, she headed in the opposite direction of Marvin and the cop with the rifle. After a moment's hesitation, she heard Yoko begin to follow.

The police ignored them. For the most part, they seemed to be unsure of what to do. She saw a few wondering around, as if they were patrolling, carrying shotguns, assault rifles, or submachine guns, but there didn't seem to be a clear structure to their movements. The same was true of the few boarding up the windows. They were clearly doing it because they thought it was a good idea, not because they'd been ordered to. Alyssa wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but it was what it was.

Alyssa had figured she could just keep going in one direction and eventually find a way out, but it appeared that wasn't to be. She led Yoko through another waiting room, down a narrow, wood paneled hallway, past a door labeled DARK ROOM, up a flighty of stairs, past another door with the STARS emblem beside it, before stepping through another door and finding herself in a library.

Alyssa stood there a moment, trying to get her bearings. She'd been inside the RPD building a few times, and if she recalled, Chief Irons' office was across the lobby from here, but there were also two side entrances in the same direction.

"Where are we going?" Yoko asked from behind her. The quiet girl hadn't said anything throughout their entire trip. Were it not for the sound of her footsteps, Alyssa might've forgotten she was there.

"That way" Alyssa replied, pointing to a pair of double doors at the other end of the library, next to a strange, red colored potted plant. "We can get out if we go that way."

"Okay" Yoko replied faintly, following closely behind. Alyssa suspected that was Yoko's standard position; she just seemed too shy and quiet to ever take charge of a situation.

Through the door Alyssa had pointed at, they found themselves on a balcony overlooking the main hall. Alyssa could still see police officers milling around below, the dull murmur of conversation echoing on the high ceiling. Across the way was another door. "That's the one we want" Alyssa said, more to herself than Yoko. She figured the girl would follow her regardless, so there wasn't really any reason to explain things to her.

They crossed the raised walkway, their footsteps echoing loudly over the open space. A few people looked up, but returned to what they'd been doing, apparently assuming Alyssa and Yoko weren't doing anything they shouldn't be. Alyssa scoffed to herself. _These people are such sheep_.

The door, it turned out, led into Iron's secretary's office. Alyssa remembered the short, mousy girl who had all the mannerisms of a domestic violence sufferer, and suspected she had more than a few horror stories to tell about her boss. But, like a lot of people in abusive relationships, she was devoted to her tormentor, so getting any dirt on Irons from her would be a long shot, at best.

The secretary was gone, in any case. That was probably just as well, since she would likely have just turned them over to Irons as soon as she saw them.

Leaving the deserted office, Alyssa led Yoko to the right, down a narrow L-shaped hallway.

Alyssa heard Yoko stop, and turned to find her staring out the window, a look of shock on her face. "What's up?" she asked.

Yoko's eyes didn't leave the burning inferno that Raccoon City had become. "I-I had no idea it had gotten this bad" she managed to stammer at last, still not making eye contact with Alyssa, as if she couldn't stop looking at the dying city.

"Come on" Alyssa said, taking her arm. "We need to get out of here."  
>Yoko nodded slowly, but didn't move.<p>

"Yoko?"

"It's like I can feel them" she said quietly. "In my head. The hunger…"

_What is she talking about?_ Alyssa wondered. "Really, Yoko, it's now or never…"

Yoko nodded slowly, allowing Alyssa to pull her away from the window, outside

onto the helipad. They both paused a moment. Alyssa breathed deep of the outside air, but nearly gagged on all the ash floating on the breeze. She walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. "The coast is clear" she called to Yoko. "Let's get a move on before that changes."

"Right" said Yoko, apparently recovering some of herself. She followed Alyssa down into the dark alley.

Alyssa paused at a corner and drew the handgun the sniper cop had given her, holding its unfamiliar weight in her right hand. She wasn't used to guns, nor was she used to having to shoot people, but she was more than willing to learn, and learn fast. She suspected anything less would result in a slow, messy death.

She peered around the corner, but the streetlamps were poorly positioned, and cast regular shadows on the sidewalk, where just about anything could've been hiding. Still, it was their only option.

"Stay behind me" she instructed Yoko, before stepping into the light and moving as quickly as she could to the small shed at the far end of the alley. From there, if she remembered correctly, there was a parking garage, a large gate, and a way into the city and out of the death trap the RPD building would almost certainly become.

Unfortunately, it wasn't going to work out that way. From the other side of the shed, she heard a high pitched scream, like a little girl. "What the hell?" she muttered, startled by the sound.

"Someone needs help!" Yoko shouted, suddenly waking up. She pushed past Alyssa, heading for the door, despite her protests.

"Wait!" she shouted, but Yoko had already pulled the door open and hurried inside. Swearing to herself, Alyssa followed.

Yoko pulled the door open, only to find a drooling, maggot-faced zombie standing there. He lurched forward with a belching moan, but Yoko dropped to the ground and scrambled away like a crab, crying out in surprise and disgust. Alyssa brought the handgun up and fired twice, putting two rounds into the zombie man's chest; not enough to put him down, but enough force to cause him to stagger backwards and collapse, shuddering and twitching as he tried to right himself.

A second later, a smaller form darted into the room. Alyssa almost shot it, before she realized the motion had come far too fast for one of the infected. It was, in fact, a little girl, no more than thirteen, with short blonde hair in what looked like some kind of sailor costume.

Yoko scrambled to her feet at roughly the same time as the zombie, except there wasn't just one zombie outside anymore, but about a dozen, all stumbling toward the open door. Alyssa knew there was no way she'd be able to fight all of them, so she turned to the two girls. "C'mon, let's get out of here!" she shouted, pointing to the door. They hurried out, and Alyssa slammed it behind her, already hearing the stumbling crunch the zombie's worn and abused legs made as they walked.

"We have to get back to the station" she told the others, pointing back down the alley. Yoko and the little girl both jumped as the zombies began to pound on the shed door. "Go!" she shouted, turning to face the door, backing away, handgun clutched tightly in bother her fists. She heard the two girls begin to run behind her, followed by a scream from Yoko as something let out an evil hiss. She half turned to see what had happened, but the girls had already rounded the corner, and the zombies managed to break down the door, forcing her to spin back around as they stumbled drunkenly forward, bumping into each other in their blind desire to get close to her.

Alyssa pulled the trigger, winging one man in a torn brown suit, causing him to stagger back, a strange reddish brown powder bursting from the wound. She heard gunfire erupt from behind her, heard Yoko and the blonde girl shriek in terror, and hoped it was the sound of someone coming to their aid. She took a step back, managed to catch the heel of her boot on an uneven tile in the sidewalk, and fell on her butt. The zombies continued uninterrupted toward her, and she shot one in the leg, dropping it onto its knees, but the others pushed past it and knocked it down.

A shadow fell on her, and she looked up to see a police officer standing beside her, a submachine gun in his hands. He opened fire, knocking the zombies aside with precise shots. Then he turned to look at her, and Alyssa saw the vicious scars across his face.

"You!" she exclaimed in disbelief as Mat Dawson offered her a hand up.

"Huh" he snorted, pulling her to her feet. "Believe me now?"

"Fuck off" Alyssa said, sending him a disgusted look, then turned to see two other police officers rushing forward.

"You're lucky" Dawson said. "If we hadn't heard you screaming, we never would've known you were out here." He paused. "Why _were_ you out here, anyway?"

Alyssa stood there for a moment. She didn't quite know how to answer that question without incriminating herself and Yoko in an escape attempt. She wasn't quite sure how the law was being handled in Raccoon City at the moment, but it probably wouldn't be a good idea to piss the police off all the same.

"They were trying to save me" said a voice Alyssa didn't recognize at first, before she realized who it was.

She and Dawson turned toward the source of the noise, to find the little girl cowering behind Yoko. Dawson took a step toward her, slinging his gun over his shoulder.

"And who are you?" he asked, smiling, an expression his scarred face didn't wear particularly well.

"S-sherry" she stammered, after a moment's hesitation.

Dawson nodded, as if everything was okay, and they weren't in the middle of a burning, zombie infested city. "And what were _you_ doing out there?"

"I was trying to get to the police station" she replied slowly, her eyes pointed at the ground, her whole body rocking nervously back and forth. "Mom…she told me to go to the police station if things got bad."

Dawson nodded. "It sounds like your mom's pretty smart." He looked over at the still twitching bodies of the zombies who burst out of the shed. "Where are you from?"

"Greenway" the girl replied, after a moment, and Alyssa's eyes widened. Greenway was on the other side of town.

"You made it here from _Greenway_?" Dawson asked, sounding awed. The girl nodded. "That's pretty impressive." He shrugged. "Well Sherry, the important thing is you're safe now. There are about a hundred officers here, and we're gonna make sure nothing happens to you. Okay?" The girl nodded. "Good" Dawson said next. He caught the eye of one of the officers. "Aaron here's gonna take you inside. We've got a little hospital set there. They'll check you out, and then give you something to do. Do you like to help out?" Sherry nodded.

Dawson smiled that oddly disconcerting smile of his. "Great. After you get checked on, go find my friend Rebecca. She's kinda short, about my age, with red hair. Tell her Mat sent you. She'll find something for you to do."

Sherry nodded, then followed one of the police officers back to the station. Dawson turned his eyes to Yoko and smiled again, shaking his head. "We've _got_ to stop meeting like this."

Yoko nodded slowly. "So…you're not crazy after all?"

Dawson nodded, tapping the RPD cap on his head. "Nope. I'm official police material. Says so right here. I _told_ you I was a cop. It's nice to see that you're still in one piece." He paused, then stuck out his hand. "I don't believe we've been introduced. My name's Mat."

Yoko took it, shaking it once, briefly. "Yoko Suzuki."

"Well, Yoko Suzuki" Dawson replied, taking care to pronounce her name the same way she had, "it's nice to meet you." He looked over at Alyssa. "Now why don't you two get back inside, before I have to save you again?"

"Fuck off" Alyssa said again. Yoko took her arm.

"C'mon" she said. "Let's get back inside."

Alyssa sighed. "Fine" she muttered, feeling a little like a naughty child being told to take a bath. Nonetheless, she followed Yoko back toward the station. She overheard Dawson talking to the sniper cop.

"I know" he was saying. "I don't know how those things got in. And where are those damn mercenaries? Aren't they supposed to be watching the perimeter?"

_The mercenaries are gone? Shit! We should've gotten out of here when we had the chance._ Things were hitting the fan, and Alyssa couldn't help but feel like she'd missed the last lifeboat on the _Titanic._

(CINDY)

Despite the dire nature of the situation, Cindy Lennox was in her element. She'd always wanted to be some sort of nurse practitioner, but hadn't managed to finish school. Now, God was giving her a chance to put what little she'd already learned into use.

There were very few qualified medics at the RPD building. It looked like the police had sent all their medical personnel to Raccoon General at the beginning of the outbreak; no one had seen them since, so it was likely both the hospital and them were long gone.

The rather harried-looking field surgeon had about had kittens when Cindy and George arrived. George explained he was a licensed doctor, and Cindy watched the other woman's eyes actually light up. "I think…we might have a place for you" she'd said, leading them into the RPD's makeshift field hospital.

For the most part, the wounds she and George were treating were pretty minor: people falling and scraping their elbows on the pavement as they ran, twisting their ankles, or the odd shrapnel case. There were a few cops who'd been shot, apparently by gangs or private citizens attempting to capitalize on the anarchy descending on Raccoon City.

Then there were the bites.

They were the worst. Bite wounds were not in themselves difficult to treat. Granted, some of the collateral damage from them had less in common with the work of the human jaw and more with a grizzly mauling, but even so, the wounds themselves weren't especially hard to treat.

But there was a strange side-effect, some sort of secondary infection, which Cindy couldn't treat, and which kept stealing her patients away from her. Invariably, bite victims slipped into a comma, and never woke up. Without fail, the police arrived to take the comatose patient away. Cindy never saw them again, and she was far too busy to spare them much thought. There were, after all, plenty of other patients.

All the same, she couldn't help but remember poor Will, staggering around with the other psychopaths, a look of blind hunger in his eyes.

When Cindy wasn't wondering what had happened to her unconscious patients, or spending the vast majority of her time working, she kept glancing over at the two teenage girls also working in the infirmary. Neither could be older than 18, and the dark-haired one looked considerably younger.

The other girl seemed familiar, somehow. She was short and slight, with shoulder length red hair she kept out of her eyes with a green cord. She was wearing one of the RPD's ball caps, but she didn't look young enough to be a cop. And Cindy _knew_ she'd seen her somewhere before.

Two men, clad in paramilitary clothes, came in, bearing a man on a stretcher. He was pressing a blood soaked bandage to his shoulder, and muttering unintelligibly to himself.

George moved parallel to the two stretcher bearers, motioning them lay the man down in a spot currently unoccupied by anyone else, although a faint bloodstain remained from its previous tenant. Cindy could see the man had lost a lot of blood; his dark skin had taken on a pale cast, and dark brown fluid was dripping from the stretcher.

George saw that, then stopped the two men. "Don't set him down" he directed, motioning for them to unfold the stretcher's legs. "We need to get him stable _now_." He gestured off-handedly. "Cindy, Rebecca, over here."

Cindy moved parallel to the redhead, both of them taking up a position on either side of the stretcher. The other girl, Rebecca, looked at the lead soldier.

"What happened, Carlos?" she asked, her eyes drifting between the mercenary and the patient.

Carlos shook his head. "I dunno. He was out helping us look for one of the cops, something Welles. He was out of sight for maybe five minutes before he started screaming. By the time we got to him, whatever did this was already long gone."

"Let's get this bandage out of the way" George said, reaching for the bloody rag covering the wound in the man's shoulder.

Suddenly, the wounded man sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and clear as he grabbed George's hands with surprising strength. "_Sustantivo_!" he shouted, with the air of someone desperately trying to warn of an impending train wreck. "_Sustantivo_!" With a convulsive shudder, he fell back onto the stretcher.

George, Cindy, and Rebecca tried their hardest. Carlos and the other soldier had to hold their comrade down at one point, he was shuddering so badly, but in the end, there was nothing to be done.

George sighed, peeling his bloody plastic gloves off and tossing them in a trash can. He looked like he wanted to scream in impotent rage, but apparently kept his emotions on too tight a leash to allow such an outburst.

Rebecca looked over at Carlos. "I'm sorry about your friend" she said, after a moment.

Carlos sighed. "He's not the first one we've lost today. _Madre de dios_. I hope he's the last, though."

"What was he saying?" Cindy asked. "It sounded like Spanish."

Carlos nodded. "_Sustantivo_. He must've been delirious. Why else would he keep yelling tongue at the top of his lungs?" He shook his head again, then led the other soldier away.

George turned to his two nurses. "Well ladies, let's get back to work. I'm sorry, but we're needed here."

Soon enough, Cindy found herself buried in another patient's stomach cavity. This one had been shot with a .45, apparently by someone interested in redistributing his wealth. It was a grave injury, but George seemed confident the man would pull through, and Cindy was confident in George's abilities. She felt like she'd finally found a patient she could save.

(PEYTON)

Peyton Welles had been with the RPD for nearly thirty years. A tough, no nonsense veteran and Raccoon City native, it tore him apart inside to see what was becoming of his beloved home town. You wouldn't have been able to tell by looking at him, though. Peyton Welles was a man who kept every emotion but anger under tight reign. He'd long sense learned there was no room in his life for any other feeling.

He was certainly angry now. He was furious that his beloved police force had come to this: forced to cower in their own precinct, rather than going out and actively confronting the problem. Rationally, he knew that would only result in a lot of deaths to no particular point or purpose, but it felt unmanly to just sit around and react to the situation. A good military commander (and Peyton Welles, without too much false modesty, knew he would've made a good one) didn't react to the enemy; he made the enemy react to him.

But for once, Peyton was in a position where all his book learned, arm-chair strategies couldn't be put into effect. How did you fight an enemy who could turn your own dead against you, who never grew tired, who had complete terror on their side? Peyton had yet to figure it out, but he knew the answer would come to him eventually.

It never would have occurred to him that the only way to win this particular battle would be to stop being a police officer. To Peyton Welles, that was simply too great a leap of faith.

At the moment, he and five other SWAT officers were following the head Umbrella commando, the one called Weis, or something like that. Peyton didn't have much use for the black-clad soldiers. At least the ones Chambers had brought to the RPD barricade had known how to fight. These storm trooper-like ones seemed more interested in trying to look futuristic. To Peyton, they just seemed impractical.

"It's out here" said one of them. With their mirrored helmets, Peyton had no idea who'd spoken; it sounded like Weis, but he had no way to be sure. And Peyton Welles was a man of ironclad sureties.

The Umbrella soldiers led them to the bottom of the second floor fire escape. One of them held open a small portion of fence, which had apparently been deliberately cut. It looked like new damage to Peyton, meaning someone was deliberately weakening their defenses. And that was something he just couldn't tolerate.

"What is it you wanted to show us?" he asked one of the soldiers; unsure of which one Weis was, he chose the one closest to him.

The soldier didn't answer. He just turned and walked through the fence, beckoning for Welles and the other police to follow.

Once outside the RPD perimeter, he pulled a small, metal canister off his bandolier and clicked a button on the side, causing a stream of red smoke to escape. A acrid smell hit Peyton's nose, all sickly sweet decay, and he gagged.

"What the hell?" one of the other officers asked. Peyton thought it was Guthrie, but couldn't be sure.

From down the street, he heard a long, low moan; the immediately recognizable sound of a zombie. And it was answered by more and more. Dozens. Hundreds. Maybe even a thousand undead, all heading their way.

"You're attracting them!" Peyton shouted, turning to the Umbrella commando, only to find him back inside the fence.

"Dinner time" he heard a voice from somewhere behind him say, followed by the unmistakable click-clack of someone chambering a round.

Peyton Welles spun to see the Umbrella soldiers leveling their big G36s, the double-drum fed assault rifles held at hip level. He brought his MP5 up one handed and cut two of them down with a long burst a second after the commandoes opened fire. He heard someone grunt and collapse behind him just as a bullet slammed into his shoulder and his arm went numb. He dropped the empty SMG and jerked his Desert Eagle out of its holster, firing two rounds into a soldier's chest. Then a sudden sharp pain ripped through his guts from behind, and Peyton could no longer feel his legs. He let out a gasp and collapsed.

There were only two Umbrella commandoes left. Peyton watched them drop together, blasted off their feet by some sort of shotgun. He saw that all but one of his own officers were gone, but he couldn't tell who the sole survivor was.

Then he heard a voice say, calmly. "Thought they could bushwhack me, huh? Guess I showed them. Nobody can fuck with DARK BLUE!"

Involuntarily, Peyton groaned, because he recognized the voice, and it wasn't fair that he'd been killed by that _bastard_-

"Still alive, are we? Just have to fix _that_." And Peyton's thoughts were permanently interrupted by the RPD standard issue boot coming down on his face.


	34. Dark Blue

Chapter 31:

Dark Blue

(REBECCA)

"Um…Miss?"

Rebecca turned at the quiet voice behind her, finding a small blonde girl standing there. "Uh…Hi there."

The little girl looked nervous, as if she didn't really want to be talking to Rebecca. Rebecca, for her part, was terrified in her own way. She _hated_ kids, or at least hated being around them. It wasn't that she thought they'd try to eat her or something (although she suspected something along those lines had happened to Mat back in Raven's Gate). She was just paralyzed by the irrational fear she might…_break_ the kid, or something.

"Is there…something I can do for you?" she asked, trying to keep calm. Really, it was ridiculous, but she was _terrified_ right now. And she had no idea why.

The girl kept looking around shiftily. It was clear she was uncomfortable. It was almost as if she was afraid something was going to leap out of nowhere and kill her. While the situation was dangerous, Rebecca didn't think things had gotten quite _that_ bad just yet.

"A…police officer sent me up here…told me to find Rebecca upstairs. That blonde lady said that was you" the girl explained, pointing at Cindy, where she and the doctor named George were deep in discussion. Cindy kept looking at Rebecca like she _almost_ recognized her; Rebecca, for her part, didn't feel the need to remind her that they'd been attending the same church from the time Rebecca had arrived in Raccoon City until just after she'd come back from the mansion. It wasn't a fact she was particularly proud of, but Rebecca was having a hard time with the idea of a God who'd let such terrible things as these happen.

"What were you supposed to do after you found me?" Rebecca asked.

"I…I was supposed to ask you if there was anything I could help with."

For Rebecca, the most helpful thing the little girl could do would be to go someplace where Rebecca couldn't see her. Her presence was just _that_ distracting. But she was eager to help, she was scared, and Rebecca suspected she needed something to take her mind off this nightmare. "Uh…Why don't you…" She looked up at the sound of the door swinging open, as Mat and Chase strode in, both looking drained. "Mat!" she exclaimed, hating herself for being secretly glad she had an excuse to get away from the little girl. She didn't even know her name. "What happened?"

"It's Captain Welles" said Chase. "We can't seem to find him anywhere. And he's taken half of SWAT with him, the-," he caught sight of the little girl, "jerk."

"What are you gonna do?" Rebecca asked, her eyes shifting from Chase to Mat. Her friend looked legitimately angry, as if Welles' disappearance was some sort of personal affront.

"We have to find him" Mat replied. "He's the only one who can talk some sense into Captain Branagh. He's still convinced we need to send officers back into the-hello again."

Rebecca turned to see the little girl looking in their direction, only to hurriedly look away, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.

"No, it's okay" said Mat, stepping forward easily, kneeling down in front of the little girl. "Sherry, right?" He smiled, trying to put her at ease. "My name's Mat." He looked over at Rebecca, taking in her obvious discomfort. He sent her a confused look over Sherry's shoulder, then turned his attention to the girl. "Maybe the infirmary isn't the best place for you to be. I've got a better idea. Why don't we go find my friend Heather? She's really nice, and she might have some Star Bursts in her desk. Do you like Star Bursts?"

Sherry's blue eyes positively lit up at the mention of the fruit-flavored candy. "Oh _yes_!" she exclaimed. "I _love_ Star Bursts!"

Mat smiled again. "Good. Well, come with me then, and we'll get you some." He sent a guarded look over at Chase. "And after that, we can get back to finding Captain Welles. Sound fair?"

(IRONS)

"Okay Daddy, I _love_ you too" Elizabeth Warren was saying sweetly into the radio. Brian Irons was trying his hardest not to bash his head against his desk. Taking the mayor's daughter in had been an instinct, an attempt at jockeying for position within Raccoon City's rather dubious and convoluted political structure. Now, he was beginning to have second thoughts about this whole thing. To be more precise, he was beginning to wonder if there was a way to shoot Elizabeth and somehow make her father believe he'd been in no way involved.

He didn't know how Dawson had managed to put up with it for so long. Elizabeth Warren was harmless; she was just stupid, and while stupidity wasn't a trait Irons was above taking advantage of when it came to women (really, there weren't many he _did_ have qualms about), enough was simply enough.  
>Irons couldn't read the expressions of the Umbrella soldiers at the other end of the room. There were four of them, and their mirrored helmets precluded any chance of actually seeing their faces, or forming any sort of human connection with them. Irons suspected that was the idea, but he also didn't think it'd matter. These seemed like the type of guys paid to act, not to think. No matter what their mission was in Raccoon City, they'd carry it out without question.<p>

And despite the happy horse shit their captain had been spreading all over the precinct like cream cheese on an especially stale bagel, Irons knew without a shadow of a doubt that they weren't here to save the people of his fair city. No, these guys were here for only one thing, and Irons had known what that was the minute their shiny metal boots touched the ground.

They were here for him, and not in a good way. The only question left was whether they were going to haul him in front of some Umbrella big shot…or just kill him here.

Elizabeth finally ended her call to city hall and laid the phone down. Being Chief of Police had some perks, one of which being a fiber-optic line direct to city hall. No matter how bad things got on the street, at least Irons knew his calls would also go through to the very top. Whether or not that'd make any difference was, as per usual, open to doubt.

One of the soldiers stepped forward. He spoke, and while his voice was heavily accented, it lacked the arrogant haughtiness of Weis. This was another officer, probably the second-in-command. Irons wondered what was more important than he was, but didn't for long.

"Chief Irons" said the soldier, his speech halting and precise, as if it had been learned not naturally or by listening to others, but by constant reading and study. "The situation in Raccoon City has gotten…out of hand, and someone must…take the blame for this turn of events."

Irons nodded slowly, as if he understood the situation. It wasn't an act; he did get what the other man was saying. The Umbrella soldier's mistake was assuming he was going to be compliant.

"What's your game?" he asked, not taking his eyes from the mirrored visor of the lead solder, but taking note of the other three with his peripherals. "You can't hang this all on me. William's the one you want! _He's_ the fuck up, not me. Go threaten him. I'm busy."

The soldier paused again, as if he was thinking out carefully what he wanted to say before he said it. Irons found it annoying; a simple yes or no would do, but the man was treating this conversation as if it were the entrance exam to an Ivy League college. "Doctor Birkin is…unavailable at the moment."

_Skipped town, have you? You bastard._ "That so? Well, I can't imagine why he'd do _that_…" Irons muttered, moving his hand up from the plastic holster built into his desk. Casually he cocked the hammer on the Desert Eagle magnum and raised it to the level of his thigh.

"Doctor Birkin's whereabouts are not important at the moment." The soldier seemed flustered, apparently disgusted at having to do this himself. Clearly he didn't think he was qualified. Irons was more than willing to play on that feeling.

"Where's your boss?" he demanded. "I'm used to dealing with high ranking people, and I don't even know who you are. For all I know, you're just some grunt sent here to be bagman for Umbrella. Well, I'll have you know I've been in Umbrella's service for too damn long to let a little shit like you to come in here and waste my time!"

At the mention of being in Umbrella's service, Irons heard Elizabeth gasp, and mentally cursed himself for forgetting she was present. _Well, the cat's out of the bag now_ he thought irritably. _Really, as if things aren't already complicated enough…_

"Captain Weis is dealing with another member of the RPD in Umbrella's employ" the soldier explained. "One we believe to be far more dangerous than you."

_So I'm not the only dirty cop on the force_ Irons thought. _Interesting._ "Not dangerous am I?" Irons asked quietly.

The soldiers cocked their G36s and aimed them in his direction. There was no weapon visible, so they probably thought he'd be easy pickings.

"Sorry, Chief" said the talkative soldier, whose accent Irons had finally managed to place as being either Chinese or Vietnamese. "It is not anything personal, but Umbrella will no longer require your-"

BLAM!

The world seemed to slow down as Irons pulled the trigger on the Deagle, putting a .50 bullet through the throat of the lead soldier. Shards of wood flew in all directions as the front of his desk exploded. Blood fountained from the already dead man's body as it was knocked backwards. His finger squeezed reflexively on the trigger, sending a stream of 5.56mm bullets in all directions.

The other soldiers dove for cover. Irons brought the Deagle up over his desk, firing it one handed and putting a bullet into the stomach of one soldier, the round piercing his body armor and winging the man diving beside him. Having dealt with one nuisance, Irons spun and fired the magnum again, putting two rounds into the stomach of the only soldier still standing. Gutted, the last Umbrella soldier collapsed against a wall already stained with his blood.

Irons stood up and made his way to the soldier he'd winged. The man was panting heavily, the bullet having knocked him off his feet. It had missed anything vital and his armor had taken most of the magnum's force, but getting shot with a .50 wasn't something most people could handle without some consequences.

Irons stood over the man, who lay on his back, weakly raising one hand, palm up and out, as if in supplication.

"Still not dangerous?" he asked quietly, before pulling the trigger. The man's body spasmed as the magnum round tore through his body and into the room below, eliciting a small scream of surprise. Irons was past such concerns, though.

Calmly, he turned to Elizabeth, the pale blonde girl even whiter than usual, contrasting sharply with her yellow-gold hair. "What…was…that?" she managed to stammer, her breathing still uncontrolled. Irons noticed the way her chest rose and fell as her lungs worked in over time, and found he liked it.

"_That_ was the status quo changing" he said to Elizabeth's chest. She was too shocked to notice he was ogling her, but he didn't know how long that would last. He dropped the almost spent Desert Eagle magazine and slid home a fresh one…before aiming it at Elizabeth.

"What…what are you doing?" she stammered, blue eyes wide with shock.

"I suggest you find someplace else to be" he said calmly. "_Before _the status quo changes again. It makes no difference to me, but it will be very…important to your future."

Elizabeth's eyes darted from Irons' face to his gun, then back to his eyes. She must've seen something she didn't like, because without a backwards glance she let out a terrified cry and bolted from the office.

Irons looked down at the dead soldiers littering his office. His first thought was that the cleaning crew was going to have all sorts of fun getting the bloodstains out of the carpet. Then he really noticed the lethal qualities of the men he'd killed. _No, not killed_ he corrected. _Hunted._ These men had been dangerous prey, but prey nonetheless, and he'd played that most dangerous of games, and come out ahead. They were just like the tiger in the hallway outside: lethal predators who deserved to be venerated for their deadly grace. And Irons had always had a knack for taxidermy…

Then there was Elizabeth Warren out there. She really _was_ quite a beauty, and it would be a shame to let that go to waste.

There were others on his list, other police worthy of being hunted. Not an old thug like Welles or an alcoholic like Mathison. But Aaron from SWAT was definitely a worthy target. Then there were Dawson and Chambers. Those two had managed to make it out of another Umbrella catastrophe. How tragic that the two brave young police should have come so far, only to be killed by their Chief? Irons could just feel the sadness of it.

Smiling insanely, he set off in the direction Elizabeth had taken. Killing the others would wait. Elizabeth was small, young, and defenseless. He needed to get to her and end her life, before something else robbed him of that joy.

(MAT)

Mat rolled the tube of Smarties in the palm of his hand. He loved the small, slightly bitter candies, and Heather always took care to have some on hand for him. She made a point of knowing what sweets the police favored, and made herself instantly endeared to everyone because of it. It was hard to hate someone who went out of her way to get candy for you.

He'd dropped Sherry off at Heather's desk, after briefly explaining the situation to her. Heather had nodded in her normal, unflappable manner, and said she'd take good care of Sherry, and Mat had been on his way, but not before she'd tossed him two packets of Smarties.

One he'd stuffed in his pocket, and he was contemplating eating the other. The things were just about pure sugar, and couldn't have any nutritional value, but he hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day, and he was ravenous. He was at least as hungry as he'd been back in the forest in July, although then he'd also had the competing sensations of weariness and being soaking wet to deal with. Now the hunger was his most pressing ache, and it was truly pronounced.

He was just making up his mind to paused, unwrap the plastic, and pop a couple of the sugary discs into his mouth, he heard it. At first, it was like a low moan, and he almost thought it might've been the wind. But there was also another sound: the slow, deliberate shuffle of feet on the station's wooden floor. And Mat knew only one thing whose movements were so precise.

Carefully he edged around the corner, stuffing the Smarties into his pocket and reaching for his Browning, only to find his holster empty. He cursed, remembering how he'd given it to one of the girls they met at the school, and reached back for Enrico Marini's M1911. He didn't like the Colt: it was heavy, slow, and had a low capacity, but it was the best he had to work with.

There was just one standing in the hallway. It was shuffling from side to side, as if unsure what exactly it was going to do now that it had breached the RPD building. Mat raised the Colt to eye level and made the issue a moot point with a single .45 bullet, letting the zombie drop to the floor with a dull thud.

The door behind the zombie was open, and Mat stepped forward, prepared to close it before any other zombies decided to take advantage of this odd chink in the precinct's armor…and stopped.

There was a chain link perimeter fence surrounding the back half of the building. _This_ portion had a large slit cut in one area, rendering the station's most basic means of defense useless. There were several things slumped on the ground around the door, and Mat pulled out his flashlight to see what they were.

The first thing he noticed was the glint as the light struck the Umbrella soldier's armor…and the shell casings littering the ground, and Mat gasped as he took in the full spectacle, the bloody remains of the police/Umbrella shootout no one in the station had even heard. He identified the dark blue uniforms of the RPD SWAT immediately as identical to his own, and knew without question that the misshapen body a few feet away was definitely Captain Welles.

_What were you doing out here, Captain?_ Mat wondered. Then movement caught his eyes, and he lifted the light a little, where he saw the slowly dying, flare-like grenade, still weakly spewing red smoke into the air. But Mat saw something else: dozens of zombies hunched over two other bodies at the edge of the smoke's perimeter, tearing hungrily at the two dead police there. He thought the smoke, and not the bodies must've attracted the infected, but knew he couldn't be sure, in the same way he couldn't be sure the body was Captain Welles.

Then the light caught a bright green flash, and Mat realized he was staring into the eyes of a perpetually angry and very large infected dog. The undead canine growled deeply in its throat, then lifted its head into the air and let out a howl, summoning others to the hunt. Without further ado, it let out a snarl and charged the open door.

Mat took a step back and slammed the door shut, but the dog was fast, and managed to wedge in its head and upper body before he could get it closed. The dog wriggled and squirmed, snapping its saliva soaked jaws in futile hunger. Mat kicked it in the fast, noting the surprised yelp of pain as he slammed the door closed and bolted it shut.

The Umbrella soldiers had murdered Captain Welles and a good portion of SWAT. Mat had to wonder if they were after him, but suspected their target had been someone else. After all, their officer certainly knew who he was. It would've been easy enough to find him and drag him away to silence if that had been the point. Clearly, there was someone else Umbrella wanted dead, and dead bad enough to murder four other men to get to. In either case, he needed to get to Rebecca. If the Umbrella soldiers were bad guys, she could be in-

He paused, looking down at the bloody boot prints leading away from the door, back the way Mat had come. Either another zombie had gotten in, or there was a survivor from the bloodbath outside.

Mat had just resolved to follow the trail, when an ear splitting and inhuman scream slashed through his brain.

(SHERRY)

Sherry Birkin had Star Bursts, and that made her far happier than it probably should have. There were undead cannibals trying to beat open the door, her parents were missing, and some _thing_ had stalked her from Greenway. But she had her candy, and that was, for the moment, enough.

Sherry had a rather mixed impression of the police. She'd met their Chief a few times; he worked, in some capacity, with her dad. He was big and loud and insincere, and Sherry was glad she'd managed to avoid him. Then there was the officer with the scarred face, who'd introduced himself as Mat. Despite what had happened to his face, he seemed nice enough. Sherry decided she liked him.

Then there was the redhead officer, Rebecca. Sherry didn't care for her as much. Maybe she was a nice lady, but she seemed almost…terrified of her. Sherry didn't quite get it, but she knew she didn't like it.

She already loved the other lady Mat had taken her to, Heather. Heather had a nice smile, and one she displayed a lot. She managed to put Sherry at ease almost immediately, a feat very few people could accomplish. And she'd given her candy, something her own parents very rarely remembered. For the first time since school had been closed, Sherry was relaxed.

She should've known it wouldn't last.

Heather had taken Sherry into a small room on the first floor. At one end was a smaller closet, with a dark red lamp inside. "That's a dark room" she'd explained. "It's where they develop film."

Sherry knew all about dark rooms and film. She knew all about lots of things, because she read a lot; she was often left to her own devices, even when her parents were at home (which was in and of itself a rare occurrence), so she had a very broad knowledge base, good for making her deadly at Trivial Pursuit, and not much else. But she didn't want to interrupt Heather; clearly she was an enthusiast, and it was nice to have someone to talk to after being alone on the city streets for so long.

"SHEEERRRYYYYYYY!"

The cry seemed to come from direction at once, and Sherry saw Heather's eyes widen in fear. Sherry already knew what the thing was, knew what it could do after watching it kill the two black-armored men who'd picked her up from school.

"It's coming!" she screamed, tugging at Heather, trying to pull her into the dark room.

Heather nodded slowly. She hadn't seen the monster, but she could clearly tell how terrified Sherry was, and that was all she needed to know.

"Down here" she said, pointing to a small grate in the wall at floor level. It was a tight fit, but Sherry thought she'd probably fit. She knelt down to go inside, then looked back at Heather.

"What about you?"

Heather shook her head, pulling a small pistol out of her skirt and holding it with both hands. "It's okay. I'll make sure he doesn't get you."

"But-"

"Go!" Heather said, the force of command in her voice, and Sherry went.

She hadn't gone very far before she heard the door open and saw someone step inside. At Heather's relieved sigh, she turned around awkwardly in the confined space.

From her current angle, she could see Heather's legs from the hem of her skirt down to her boots, as well as someone else in the room. The newcomer was a man, in a pair of dark colored pants and boots, similar to what Mat had been wearing.

"It's you!" Heather exclaimed, stepping forward, relief still in her voice. "I thought you were-did you hear that?"

"Heather" the stranger replied slowly. "What's going on? You alone? What's with the gun?"  
>Heather snorted, self depreciatively. "Oh, this? I thought you were the…thing out there." She sighed, stuffing the pistol back in her skirt. "It's useless. I don't even keep the thing loaded."<p>

"That so?" The new comer asked, an odd tension in his voice. "That's…unfortunate." He took a step forward.

"What are you-ugh!" Heather started, but the other officer had already grabbed her. At first, Sherry thought he was just kissing her, but Heather kept making little gagging noises and was fighting far too desperately for that. The cop had his hands up, out of view, but it slowly dawned on Sherry that he wasn't cupping her face, but squeezing her neck.

The officer shoved her onto the table in the center of the room, Heather's legs dangling over the edge. She kicked wildly, clawing desperately at the other cop, her gasped screams becoming more and more frantic…until suddenly Heather's body shuddered once and was still.

The other cop stood next to Heather's limp body, his arms jerking a little as he kept squeezing. One of Heather's arms dropped off the table, her small hand open, palm out. Something small fluttered to the floor, unseen by the police officer.

Sherry clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was unnecessary. She was too horrified by what she'd just seen to make any kind of sound.

Heather wasn't the first person she'd seen killed; that dubious honor belonged to the two black-armored Umbrella soldiers who'd arrived at school and picked her up. They'd been attacked by the monster, and while they'd died defending her from it, Sherry didn't think it was because they liked her; it was just their job.

But she'd liked Heather, and she'd just watched someone murder her in cold blood, for no good reason, or even any reason at all other than because he could.

A small, choking sob escaped Sherry's mouth, and she saw the killer stiffen, trying to find the source of the noise.

_Run you idiot, run!_ screamed a voice in Sherry's head, but she found she'd couldn't move. And the killer was looking around, taking a couple of steps toward the vent. His hand brushed Heather's leg, causing it to rock slightly, and Sherry felt a tear begin to run down her cheek.

Then there was another scream from the monster, this one much closer, followed by several bursts of automatic weapons fire.

"Shit!" the killer shouted, then dashed back out of the dark room, leaving Sherry alone with the body.

Sherry suddenly found herself in control of her movements, and without hesitation, began to crawl deeper into the vents. She had to get away, had to hide from the monster…the one with three eyes pretending to be her father…and the one pretending to be a cop.

(MAT)

Mat fired another burst into the monster from the P90, causing it to reel and stagger backwards, dark colored gore dropping from the many, .224 centimeter holes he'd put in its body. He had no idea what the thing was, but it was clearly some sort of BOW Umbrella had released into the station to clean things up.

He heard the booming crack of Chase's M14, the huge battle rifle kicking in his superior's hands. He had no idea how he managed to fire the gun accurately while moving; it kicked like a mule. But Chase wouldn't carry anything else.

The monster turned and bellowed, the oddly deep-throated voice coming from its disturbingly almost human mouth. Chase didn't hesitate, putting a round through the monster's eye. The beast staggered backwards from the blow, sickly yellow gore flowing from the huge eye on its shoulder. It stumbled a little farther, its back coming to rest on a window. The weight of the huge monster was too much for the glass, and with a crash the thing fell backwards, disappearing into the darkness below.

Chase leaned out the window, awkwardly firing his battle rifle down its night vision scope. After about four shots, he gave up, shaking his head disgustedly. "Damn it, the thing got away."

"Yeah" said Aaron, shouldering his long-barreled M16. "But I'll bet he doesn't mess with us again."

"I hope not" said Mat. The damn thing had taken a _lot_ of fire to scare off; if Chase and Aaron hadn't also been out looking for Captain Welles, they never would've found him, and Mat would likely be dead.

Remembering the Captain's sudden and unexpected death caused Mat to remember the thin trail of blood he'd followed away from the massacre. Because it had just resumed, and Mat suspected whoever was leaving it behind was-

He heard a sound up ahead. Running footsteps. A door slamming. He turned to Chase and Aaron. "He's getting away!" he shouted. "We have to go after him!"

Chase nodded. "Right. Let's go!"

Mat followed the trail of blood past an odd ruby holding statue and down the hall, where he saw it followed the steps. Whoever had escaped Welles' fate was close; Mat heard someone running below, and there was no time to lose.

"What are you-?" Aaron began as Mat hopped over the edge of the stairs, landing hard on his feet, bending his knees to absorb most of the shock.

"That way!" he shouted to the others, trying to let his legs recover. Chase and Aaron sprinted down the stairs and headed in the direction he'd pointed. Mat started to follow, only to realize the door to the dark room was partially open…and there was something odd lying on the table. A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Mat edged the door open.

Heather Waverly was lying sprawled on the table, eyes wide open. She was clearly dead, but Mat felt for a pulse, then cursed silently when he found none. Damn it, he'd just been with her not an hour ago. There were dark bruises around her throat, and blood under her fingernails. _Who did this?_ an angry part of Mat's voice demanded.

Mat reached out and gently closed Heather's eyes. Her left hand was already lying on her chest; apparently it had come to rest there when she died. Her right arm hung over the side, and Mat reached down to put it with its twin…and stopped when he saw the small piece of fabric just below. Carefully, he reached down and picked it up.

Mat stared at the fabric in his hands for a moment, incomprehension briefly swimming around in his mind, only to be replaced by anger.

Gently, he placed Heather's right hand on her chest. Then he went after the man who'd murdered her.

(REBECCA)

George, the doctor, had sent her down to get bandages. Really, Rebecca was glad for the break. She was frayed from the hopeless battle to keep people alive in the infirmary, and just wanted an escape.

Besides, the little girl would probably have gotten to do this anyway, and since it was Rebecca's fault she'd left to begin with…

She still felt bad about that. She didn't know what had gotten into her like that; it just wasn't like her, and she had a feeling Mat was just not going to let her hear the end of it.

Rebecca rounded a corner, and found herself face to face with one of the SWAT officers. What was his name…She couldn't remember, and it looked like his name badge had been torn off his uniform.

"Are you…okay?" she asked.

The man stared at her for a moment, several different emotions warring on his face. Rebecca couldn't place all of them, and was _sure_ she'd misidentified a few, but it was clear this man was terrified.

"Please" he begged. "You've gotta help me." He tapped a seeping wound on his abdomen. "Got…speared. Monster."

Rebecca dropped most of her bandages and grabbed the wounded cop before he could collapse. "Come on, follow me" she said, leading him back the way she'd come. She didn't like the way that wound was seeping, and she knew she'd never be able to get him up the stairs without help. She needed to get him somewhere, get him stabilized and the bleeding stopped, before she could leave him for help.

"Through here" she said, unwittingly leading him into the same interrogation room Mat had met William Birkin in. She pointed to the metal table in the center, slipping out from under the man's shoulder. "Lie down here, and we'll see what we can-" That was as far as she got, before the blow slammed into the back of her head, and she stumbled back. Stars swam in her eyes, and Rebecca looked around for the source of the attack in a daze. She spun, just in time to receive a backhand across the face that sent her sprawling more. She managed to half draw her Samurai Edge before her hand was enveloped by the clearly not wounded officer, who tossed the weapon aside.

Rebecca's vision cleared and she started to scream when she saw the cold look in the clearly deranged officer's eyes. Then his other hand closed around her neck, and Rebecca's cry turned into a breathless gurgle.

(MAT)

"Damn, where is he?" Mat nearly shouted, looking around the crowded entrance hall. Somehow, Guthrie, the slippery, murderous, cowardly little _bastard_, had managed to give them the slip.

"There!" Chase shouted, pointing to a blood smear on a door at the opposite end of the hall. He and Mat took off in that direction, leaving a confused Aaron behind amidst a sea of equally confused rescued civilians who had no idea what was going on.

Mat picked up on the trail of blood pretty quickly. It led past the watch office, toward the interrogation and press rooms. "This way!" he shouted to Chase, not waiting for a response. The only thing in his mind right now was making sure Michael Guthrie paid for what he'd done.

He kicked open the door at the end of the hallway, leading down another, L-shaped one, facing a row of windows, many of which had been partially boarded up. He began to sprint down the hall, noting a pile of bandages lying next to the wall, but not really registering them in his mind.

He and Chase were getting closer, dashing past the windows. Mat heard a groan from his right, a combination of protesting wood and hungry zombie, before the boards over one window shattered and an infected lunged forward, wrapping both hands around Chase's M14.

"No, this is _mine_, dammit!" he shouted, fighting with the zombie for control of the battle rifle.

"Chase!" Mat exclaimed, reaching again for his missing Browning. Just then an oddly familiar scream registered in his ears before it was abruptly cut off, and Mat's blood ran cold. "Rebecca."

Chase swung the M14's stock into the zombie's face, snapping its neck as the wood destroyed its skull. In one smooth motion he drooped the battle rifle and drew his handgun, firing at the zombies trying to make use of the open window. "Go!" he shouted to Mat. "I'll handle this!"

Mat gave Chase one last look, then turned and ran back in the direction he'd heard the scream from. Without hesitation, he kicked open one of the interrogation room doors, drawing the Colt, aiming it at Guthrie, who was leaning over Rebecca, who he'd forced onto a table…and froze, his finger not wanting to put the needed pressure on the trigger.

Guthrie and Rebecca both looked at him in unison, surprise in his eyes, a pleading look in hers. Then Guthrie let go of Rebecca's neck with one hand, pulling a small, stockless shotgun off his back. It looked like a double barrel, but there were _three_ tubes, all arranged in a row, and Mat registered the threat in this action, his finger finally wanting to move, but it was too late.

Guthrie fired the shotgun, and Mat felt something slam into him with the force of a freight train. He was knocked backward, slamming into the wall behind him, and mercifully blacked out in impact.

(GUTHRIE)

Michael Guthrie looked at the limp form of Dawson, and smiled faintly, tossing the empty Hydra aside. He'd intended to just end Chambers, but had gotten a two-fer when his asshole former teammate showed up. It was a shame Umbrella had cut him off, though. Otherwise, he might've been able to get some money from this job.

Guthrie, or DARK BLUE, as he was known to the Umbrella controller, was a contract killer. He'd taken out whole families for the company since relocating to Raccoon City, making sure anyone who needed to be was out of the way. Despite what the surviving STARS thought, it had been Guthrie and not Wesker who'd sabotaged Bravo team's chopper back in July. And it had been Guthrie who'd killed Barry Burton's neighbors, allowing the Company had a nice, convenient place to spy.

Guthrie remembered that job: a suppressed USP for the man and his wife, a pair of headshots for the man and woman, nice, clean, and professional. When the daughter had come home, though, he'd allowed himself to get a little carried away, strangling the seventeen year-old to death in her bedroom.

That was Guthrie's one weakness, one deviance; that was how the Company had first found him, when he'd tried to stalk an Umbrella secretary. Umbrella had laid a trap, and after nabbing him, offered Guthrie a choice: Umbrella would cover up his misdeeds, if in exchange, Guthrie took down anyone who they felt needed to die. Guthrie could kill without compunction. It was a no brainer.

Guthrie was, essentially, a psycho for hire. He freely admitted that fact to his fellow Company employees. He'd started off torturing small animals as a child, working his way up until he'd claimed his first human victim at the age of fifteen. He remembered sweet little Alexandria, with her easy laugh and soft brown hair, remembered following her home from school one day, remembered squeezing the life out of her…

It was an indulgence he felt he didn't get to partake in often enough. He'd wanted to strangle Heather Waverly for as long as she'd been with the RPD, but she was Irons', and therefore untouchable. But with Raccoon City falling apart, and the chances of Michael's survival very slim, he figured it was time to throw caution to the wind.

But killing Heather had only whetted his now unfettered appetite. He wanted more, and when he found Chambers in the hallway, it had been like a God send.

Guthrie returned to looking into the little redhead's eyes. He wished he'd mounted a camera for these two; he'd done that before, and it was fun to watch his victim's legs kick and spasm. But this had been impromptu, and…

There was a small spray can in Chambers' hand. Guthrie had just enough time to register that she'd magically gotten her hands on a can of mace, before sprayed the irritant into his eyes and his world became blind, fiery pain.

He let out a bellow, releasing Chamber's throat, his hands rubbing desperately at his eyes. He felt her knee connect with his groin, but after what she'd done to his eyes and nose, that pain was only a distant second. Then he heard the unmistakable click of someone cocking the hammer of a gun.

Slowly, painfully he managed to force his eyes open. Chambers had recovered her handgun, and had it aimed at him in a strong, two handed grip. There were already dark bruises around her scrawny little neck, and her chest was heaving oh-so-excitingly as she panted for breath, and Guthrie could only think about having his hands around her windpipe again, finishing the job this time.

"C'mon, sweetheart" he said tiredly, trying to ignore the stinging pain in his eyes, and the equally sharp pain in his chest, from where one of the Umbrella thug's bullets had entered his body. "We both know you don't have it in you. You're gonna choke, just like your boyfriend." Chambers let out a small sob when her eyes darted over to Dawson, still lying unmoving just outside the door, and Guthrie smiled cruelly. "Why don't you just put that down, and we can get back to it?"

Chambers shook her head, aiming the gun at his head. "You're not gonna touch me again, you sick…_freak_!"

That was the last straw for Guthrie. He knew Chambers didn't have it in her, any more than Dawson. She'd already maced him, and now she had the audacity to call him _names_! "Alright bitch, have it your way!" he snarled, stepping forward, hands outstretched. "I'm gonna make this one hurt!"

Chambers backed up until she reached the wall. He saw panic on her face, and in his sick mind he'd already grabbed her again, was already squeezing the life out of her body.

Because of that anticipation, it came as a complete surprise when she pulled the trigger, and Guthrie's last thought before the flash was that maybe he'd been wrong after all…

(REBECCA)

Rebecca sagged to the floor, the Samurai Edge falling from limp fingers as she stared at the lifeless body of the cop, a smoking hole in his head. She was glad he was face down: she only had to look at the hideous exit wound, not the smaller, puckered hole in his face, which would still have been recognizable.

_I…I killed him_ Rebecca's mind told her. The shock and brutality of the attack, followed by the swiftness and finality of her response, was sinking in as she stared in disbelief at the corpse. _I…_killed_ him._

Somehow, this was different from killing the zombies. They were sick and couldn't help themselves, couldn't control their actions. Couldn't be reasoned with. But this guy, while insane, was still a functioning human, and it had almost been too much for Rebecca to pull the trigger. Only the thought of his hands on her neck, of the pulsing ache in her brain as he strangled her, had given her the strength to shoot.

She suspected Mat would understand her hesitation, but then she remembered she'd seen Mat die, but that last thought wasn't enough to break her, not yet.

It occurred to her that Mat had stood back up and was coming slowly toward her. Mat was dead, therefore he must've reanimated, and now he was coming to eat her. Rebecca's handgun was a foot away, but she didn't reach for it. She didn't care if she died, now. She didn't care about anything.

But Mat didn't try to kill her. Instead, he reached down and took her hand, saying her name quietly. Rebecca, numbly, stood up, staring blankly into his eyes.

"I'm sorry" he was saying, tears running down his face. "I'm sorry." He kept repeating that, over and over, as if all this was his fault. Rebecca didn't know if it was or not; it didn't matter to her anymore, anyway.

Mat pulled her close, repeating over and over that he was sorry, trying to get her to respond, begging her to say something. Then, suddenly, his face was very close to hers, close enough that they were touching, and Rebecca blinked, the numbness shrouding her mind dispelled like fog under a powerful search light.

She could see Mat, a look of horror on his face as he pulled back a little, his face slightly red at what had just happened, and she remembered the feeling of his lips against hers, and it suddenly occurred to her that she needed to say something.

"Oh" she said quietly, and burst into tears.


	35. Fueling the Fire

Chapter 32:

Fueling the Fire

(JILL)

It was the smell that woke her up. It wasn't an especially unpleasant smell; in fact, it was the memories the scent stirred that drew her out of sleep. "Dinner's ready?" she muttered to herself, suddenly twelve again, and looking forward to one of her dad's steaks. For whatever his faults as a father had been, Dick Valentine had been universally recognized as an amazing cook, a true artist with a grill. And the smell filtering into Jill's nose was similar to the she remembered from dozens of Sunday afternoons.

But there was another smell mixing in with the barbecue scent; one she'd encountered more recently. Jill still wasn't fully awake, and spent a few more minutes blearily trying to place the familiar odor. It wasn't until the smoke detector began to beep frantically that her eyes finally snapped open.

And as soon as she did that, she realized she hadn't been smelling barbecue. She'd been smelling someone dead…burning.

The TV was still on, and Jill nearly had a heart attack when she looked at it. The screen still had the LIVE icon in the bottom corner, but what it showed was anything but. It was a very dead, and very burned news anchor, so horribly disfigured Jill couldn't even tell what gender the unfortunate person had been. But the fact that the image was still being sent out seemed to indicate the station in question had other, much more pressing things to worry about…or they were all already dead. Somehow, in the last twelve hours, Raccoon City had experienced a full-fledged catastrophe.

And Jill had slept right through it.

"Fucking idiot" she muttered, furious with herself. If she hadn't been so willing to wallow in self pity, she could've been in a position to do something. She was sure the RPD had been called out in force, but they wouldn't have known what to do, they would've needed her help, and the kids, Mat and Rebecca, were still out there somewhere, probably trying to do what they could, but they lacked her training. She hoped they were still alive. She knew she'd never forgive herself if they'd died when they might've lived had she been with them.

Jill stood up, snatching her hip holster, shoving her handgun inside, before slipping two extra magazines into the pocket of her skirt. She kept her STARS knife tucked into her boot wherever she went, just in case, so it was already on hand. The last things she grabbed were her STARS badge, which she clipped to her left pocket, and a white jacket, which she tied around her waist.

Jill spared her apartment one last look around, taking in every detail, knowing she would never see it again. _This is my last chance_ she thought. _My last escape._ Then she turned, pulled open the door, and hurried down the hallway, leaving it partially ajar behind her. Jill Valentine was a woman of few attachments, one of which had died in the Arklay Forest back in July, one which was somewhere in Europe, another in Canada, and two more somewhere lost in the nightmare Raccoon City had become. There wasn't anything for her to take from the apartment, because there had never been anything inside she really cared about.

Her apartment building was burning, she quickly realized, as she dashed down a deserted hallway, Samurai Edge in both hands in case anything decided to lunge out of the darkened corridors at her. But it looked like whatever had gone wrong had already passed her building by. Apparently they'd evacuated sometime ago, aside from the poor fool she'd smelled burning; she'd probably slept right through the commotion along with everything else.

She reached the bottom floor when a new smell reached her; still somewhat sweet odor, but different than the others. Still, she recognized it all the same: propane. There was a gas leak in the building, and since it was already on fire…

"Shit" Jill muttered to herself, pounding down the creaky wooden steps, raising her arms over her head, and lunging through the large window near the front door. A second after she became airborne, she felt a sudden flash of heat from behind, and the rapidly expanding explosion pushed her still farther, even as it singed the tips of her boots.

Jill landed hard on the sidewalk outside her building, staying flat as the flames shot over her, before standing back up and taking stock of her situation.

It was dark, but there was a hellish glow in the sky, and embers floated freely in the air, telling Jill that Raccoon City was on fire in several places. Then she noticed the police barricade behind her, splotches of dried blood on its white sides. Jill was still pondering its presence when she heard a hesitant, shuffling footstep behind her, and spun around.

There was a police officer stumbling toward her. Jill instantly recognized the slack jaw, stiff legs, loose arms, and odd way he cocked his head, and leveled her Samurai Edge, putting a round through his brain.

The sound her handgun's report was like ringing a dinner bell. Zombies began to rise up all around her, drawn by the noise of the weapon, apparently already associating it with food. _Shit_.

Jill did a quick count, and immediately saw there were _far_ more zombies than she had bullets in her handgun. She had to run; otherwise, she was going to get eaten alive.

She turned, saw a narrow avenue created by two stalled cars down which she could make her getaway, but it was already full of infected, and Jill didn't have time to clear them all out. Instead, she shot the one at the head of the pack in the knee, causing him to drop down with a groan, a temporary roadblock that kept the others bottled up behind him. Without hesitating Jill kicked him in the chin as hard as she could. She heard his neck snap and saw his body sail into the air, landing hard on his fellows, causing them to stagger backwards. Jill took a deep breath and dashed through the discombobulated crowd, brushing the stunned zombies aside as she ran.

There was a dumpster at the far end of the row. Jill didn't slow down, vaulting over the plastic and metal container and landing on her feet, ready to move again.

Unfortunately, she hadn't made plans past this stage. She hadn't expected to make it this far, so now that she had, she didn't know what to do. Worse, the zombies she'd woken up when she shot the cop hadn't had to go through the obstacle course from hell she'd just braved, and hadn't slowed down in their pursuit of her.

Jill turned and backed toward a building, the infected stumbling toward her. There were still too many for her to take down, even with spare magazines, and even if she did manage to kill them all, she'd be out of ammo in a city clearly infested with Umbrella bioweapons.

_Think Valentine, think!_

The wall behind her had some give to it, Jill suddenly realized. She stepped forward, then slammed her shoulder into it as hard as she could. The door she'd been leaning against gave a shudder, but it took two more hits before it swung open and Jill could hurry inside.

She paused, turning to slam the door, only to see that it had been locked and she'd busted the frame with her shoulder. There was no way for her to close the door, and when a cold, half rotten hand thrust through the boarded up window to her left, followed by several more, she decided it would be better just to go.

Jill turned, and without looking back, hurried down the narrow alley, pursued by the hungry moans of the infected.

(MAT)

They stood, staring at each other for a minute. Mat's face was suddenly very warm, there was a stinging sensation in his arm, and he truly, sincerely wanted to melt into the floor.

"Sorry" he said, again, not sure if it was for what he'd just done, or what he'd found himself unable to do a few minutes ago.

Rebecca's face was still a purplish color, and there were bruises already beginning to form on her neck. Mat realized just how close he'd come to loosing her, and how much she really meant to him. Rebecca wouldn't look at him still, her eyes steadily down. Mat thought it was because she was ashamed of him. But she was still crying, and he wanted to do _something_ to comfort her, but he'd never been good with women, and it was already a huge departure to think of Rebecca as something other than his buddy: as a girl, an attractive one at-

"Not your fault" Rebecca said quietly, still not looking up.

"What?"

"It's not your fault" she repeated, slowly, her voice firm despite the tremor in her shoulders. "This isn't your fault."

"But Rebecca, I _froze_!" he protested. "I should've shot that _bastard_, but when the chips were down…I couldn't do it." He paused, lowering his voice a little. "I couldn't save you."

Rebecca finally looked at him. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, but Mat wasn't sure if that was from oxygen deprivation or crying. "You tried, didn't you?"

"That's not the point!" Mat was angry now, angry at Rebecca's apparent refusal to condemn him. "The point is, you almost _died_ because I couldn't man up and do what I had to. When the chips were down, I hesitated, and we both almost died because of it."

"But we didn't" Rebecca reminded him gently, as if he might've forgotten.

"But we could've."

"But we _didn't_."

Mat sighed. "You have every right to hate me. I put you in a position where you had to something…something you shouldn't have had to do."

Rebecca shook her head. "That wasn't you. That was all him. All you did was try to protect me. None of this is your fault."

"But I _failed_" Mat said again. "Why do you refuse to be angry with me?"

"Why do you _want_ me to be?" Rebecca replied. She sighed. "I have nothing to be angry with you over. You did what you could, and then you tried to make me feel better afterward. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I-"

Rebecca took a step forward, raising a finger in front of his face. "But nothing" she said quietly. "You did everything right, okay?"

"Everything?"

Rebecca leaned forward a little and planted one on his cheek. "Everything" she repeated quietly.

Mat stared at her for a moment. _What?_ "So…where does that leave us?"

"Slow down, buddy" Rebecca said, smiling faintly. "I think we may have more important things to worry about, at the moment."

Mat nodded. "Yeah."

Something warm had been running down Mat's arm for several minutes. He'd not paid much attention to it before, but Rebecca noticed it and pulled at his sleeve, revealing a nasty gash on his right forearm.

"You're bleeding!" she exclaimed, pulling his sleeve up a little higher. "Here, let me do something about it." She turned and began to rummage in her medical bag.

"No, that's okay, you don't have to-" Mat protested, as Rebecca pressed a piece of folded up gauze to the wound.

"Crap" Rebecca muttered, looking down in her bag. "I don't have anything to tie it up with." She thought for a minute, then unwound the green cord she'd been using to keep her hair out of her eyes, wrapping it around Mat's bicep and pulling it snug, causing him to wince.

"Oh, don't be a baby" she teased, shaking her head and causing a few strands of hair to drop down over her eyes. She sighed and shoved it under the bill of the RPD cap she'd been given about an hour ago. "_This_ is why I always keep my hair short" she muttered.

"I dunno" Mat replied. "I think that's a good look for you."

Rebecca sent him a truly impenetrable look, then turned back to his arm. "How did this happen?"

"I dunno" he said, shrugging. "I guess it's from when Guthrie shot me."

"I saw you get hit" Rebecca said, her eyes suddenly a little narrow. "How did you survive?"  
>Mat smiled, tapping his chest. "I took a page out of your book and picked up a bullet proof vest before we left the station yesterday."<p>

"Oh" Rebecca said. "When I saw you get shot, I thought you were dead."

"Sorry" Mat replied. "Now you know how it felt when I saw Wesker shoot you back in July. It's no fun when you see someone you care about apparently die."

Rebecca nodded. "No, it's not."

Just then, Chase stumbled into the room. His blue RPD uniform, already stained from the past few hours of sustained fighting, had gotten even filthier since the last time Mat had seen him.

"You okay, sir?"

Chase nodded. "Yeah." His eyes drifted from Mat to Rebecca and back, but he didn't say anything, instead looking down at Guthrie, lying in a pool of his own blood, brain and skull splattered on the wall behind him. "I see you took care of this fucker. Nice shooting."

"Thanks" Rebecca said faintly. Despite what she'd said earlier, Mat didn't think she'd quite gotten over shooting someone.

Chase looked over at her in surprise, then knelt down beside Guthrie. "Let's see what made this bastard tick" he said quietly, rummaging around in the dead man's pockets.

Chase uncovered a wide variety of useful items: a Desert Eagle .50 magnum, along with two spare magazines, which he added to his own armament; a pair of Browning HP extended mags, which he handed to Mat; a small folding knife; a collection of shotgun shells for the triple-barreled job he'd been carrying; and a small, folded piece of paper.

"I wonder what this is?" Chase muttered, unfolding the paper and studying it. Curious, Mat and Rebecca went over to stand beside him.

The sheet of paper was clearly some sort of memo. It was typed in small, hard to read font, apparently to be as economical as possible. It was clear, though, who it was from: a large, red and white and hatefully familiar emblem adorned the upper right corner, and was also evident more faintly beneath the type. The memo said:

ATTN: Agents Within Raccoon City

Subject: Neutralization of Trouble Elements within the RPD

It is in the best interests of the Company to keep tabs on Raccoon City Special Tactics and Rescue Officers Christopher Redfield, Barry Burton, Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers, and Brad Vickers, as well as Special Weapons and Tactics officer Mathias Dawson. Agents will regularly report on these officers' whereabouts, as well as personal habits, routines, and acquaintances. Agents will be prepared to move against the above officers at a moment's notice, but should also be careful not to alert said officers to the presence of Company agents either through incompetence or by moving too quickly. Neutralization of trouble elements will only be carried out by the specified personnel, and only on the orders of the Company. Stand by for further instructions.

-Christi Henri

Chase looked down at the memo in disbelief. "Guthrie was gunning for you guys?" he asked, looking from Mat to Rebecca. "Why?"  
>"It's a long story," Mat said, "but I think I can condense it down for you."<p>

(BILLY)

It was windy on the roof of the RPD building, Billy had discovered. He didn't know what that surprised him: true, the precinct wasn't all that tall, but neither were the buildings around it, so things ought to have broken even, but hadn't. _Maybe it's this damn mountain air_ he thought. Billy, a native of California, was gaining a truly hearty sense of loathing when it came to Colorado, and it didn't even have anything to do with the fact that he'd been almost eaten alive here more times than he could count.

After Dawson had taken a swing at him, Billy had been sent upstairs, to man the defenses on the roof. He suspected part of that was to keep him from trying to take the little asshole out, but Billy wasn't dumb enough to try and bushwhack a cop in a building full of them. He'd been accused of a lot of things in his life, but stupid had never been one of them.

Despite the cold, Billy found he was really warming up to his new weapon. He'd held onto the modified M1911 he'd picked up on the train back in July, but the M4 he'd collected from the Army Rangers was a write-off, having been thrown off the railroad bridge and all. Billy was a pistol expert, but there were still only so many things you could do with a handgun. He needed something with a little more reach.

The RPD had opened up its armory once they'd learned he was a marine. Billy had looked at their motley assortment of rifles, SMGs, and shotguns, before deciding on something he'd proven quite proficient with in basic, but had never in his wildest dreams expected to find here, at the ass end of civilization: a Model 79 40mm grenade launcher.

Billy kept the heavy weapon slung over his shoulder, where it would be readily available should he need it. His job was to put the powerful, highly explosive incendiary grenades into any large clusters of zombies headed for the station. Billy suspected the rounds would also come in handy if he ran into the bizarre leach monster things that had almost been the death of him back in July. He hadn't mentioned them to the police: with the exception of Rebecca and Dawson, he doubted anyone would believe him, and it could lead to some truly uncomfortable questions.

"Hey, look at that" said a gravely voice. Billy turned to look in the direction David King was pointing. David was the only other none police officer on the roof, and under other circumstances Billy probably would've tried to get to know him. But David had the equivalent of a big "fuck off" stamped on his forehead, so Billy didn't even bother. It didn't help any that the other guy gave him the creeps. There was something…dark about him.

So, naturally, when David called something to Billy's attention, he had to know what it was.

He was pointing over the side of the building, where Billy could see two cops carrying something heavy between them toward the perimeter fence. There was a pause, and then both officers hurled their burden over the fence, where it landed heavily on the street at the other side. Billy squinted, trying to make out what they'd thrown-

"Jesus!" he exclaimed. "That's a body!"

David chuckled. "Guess we better not piss these guys off, right? They might send us to sleep with the zombies."

Billy nodded slowly. "Yeah…" Something told him something terrible had happened, but he didn't know what, and wasn't in a position to do anything about it.

Just then there was a loud cawing noise from above. Billy and David, along with everyone else on the roof, looked up to see a black cloud descending on them…except it wasn't a cloud, but a flock, no, a _swarm_ of crows.

"Oh _shit_" Billy said, and opened fire.

(MARVIN)

It had finally come down to this. Marvin Branagh had been with the RPD for over twenty years, and in all his long service he'd never expected things to turn out this way; his officers forced to turn their weapons on their fellow citizens, officers deserting, his Chief missing or dead, armed soldiers in the streets.

Raccoon City, he realized, was lost. There was nothing they could do about it. The city was gone. They were all going to die. It was only a matter of time.

He'd called another meeting to discuss things with the others, the severely depleted staff of the precinct. He had Chase Mathison, Aaron Eckridge, and Mat Dawson for SWAT, himself and Kevin Ryman for the SPF, Rita Fields for the support personnel, and Rebecca Chambers for STARS. They were the highest ranking officers for each branch still in the station. Everyone else had either left, been killed, or had never showed up in the first place.

It was an empty gesture, Marvin knew. It was over. The RPD had fought hard, but in the end, they were always doomed to lose. It wouldn't be long before the building was overrun, and the police were finally wiped out.

The officers talked nervously amongst themselves, waiting for him to start the meeting. They were worn out, he could see, but they still wanted to fight. It was going to be hard convincing them the time for fighting was gone, while the time for giving up had come.

"You're probably wondering why I've called you here" he began, studying their faces. Kevin, Rita, Chase, Mat, and Rebecca were all watching him intently, while there was open hostility on Aaron's face. Apparently he already knew Marvin was about to say. For the others, it was time to shatter their delusions.

"We've been fighting for the past eighteen hours" he continued. "We started yesterday morning with a few isolated cases of civil disturbance. Since then, we've slowly lost control of Raccoon City, until this morning, when the RPD owns the real-estate around our HQ, and that's it. We don't have the ability to retake the portions of the city already lost, and soon we won't even have the ability to protect the citizens already here." He sighed, looked at the faces of his fellow officers. "I can't ask you to stay here, on this sinking ship. The RPD is finished. It's time for you all to worry about saving your own lives." He sat down heavily at his desk. "Go on, and find what seems like an appropriate way to die."

There was stunned silence. Not even Aaron spoke, apparently taken just as off guard by Marvin's statement as the others.

Then a fist slammed down on Marvin's desk. Surprised, he looked up to see Mat Dawson standing in front of him, his face red with anger.

"Bull shit!" he shouted. "That's bull shit, and you _know_ it. You just want us to give up? How can you say that, after everyone who's died here?"

Marvin sighed. "I'm sorry, but I can't keep fighting the inevitable. It's over, Mat. Just accept it."

"No!" he shouted. "No, I will _not_ accept it." He looked at the others. "We're still police, aren't we?"

"Yeah!" said Chase. "Yeah, that's right!" He looked at Marvin. "I'm sorry, but I can't give up yet. If I have to die, I'd rather die out on the streets, fighting, then die here, hiding."

"But the station is untenable" Marvin protested. Why couldn't they see that it was better to lose hope now, then to die lying to themselves? "You can't stay here."

"You're right" said Mat. "We can't stay here. We'll have to relocate, and take as many of the civilians out as possible. If we stay together, there has to be a way at least some of us will get out of the city alive." He turned to Rita. "Are the SWAT vans still here?"

She nodded, slowly, not comprehending. "Yeah, we've still got 'em. But there's no gas, so they can't go anywhere, and besides, not everyone will fit."

"That's okay" Mat replied, turning to Rebecca. "What about your buddy, Carlos? Didn't he come in here with a bunch of trucks?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah, and I'll be he'd be willing to let us use them. Besides, we can't leave he and his men here."

"But what about gas?" Aaron asked. "The tanks are too far away. If we try to get there on foot, we won't make it three blocks."

"I may have an idea" said Rita. "I remember coming here when I was little, back when it was an art museum. The tour guides told us about a series of underground tunnels connecting various parts of the city. According to them, those tunnels go everywhere. I seem to remember there being one underneath the fountain in the lobby. If we can figure out how to get it open, someone might be able to fit."

"I'll go" said Rebecca. "I'm pretty sure I'm the smallest officer here."

"But what do you know about mechanics?" Rita asked. "I should go. I'll know what to fix."

"Why don't you both go?" Kevin suggested. "That way you two can watch each other's backs. It'd be safer that way."

"I remember sending Harry out to Raven's Gate in one of the SPF vans" Chase offered. "I might be able to get back in touch with him, and tell him to return to base. He might have a few more officers, too."

"Great" said Mat, enthusiastically. "Alright folks, let's get to work."  
>Marvin watched the others leave, and realized his tenure as head of the RPD had just ended. The police weren't finished. He was. He'd do what he could to support the other officers, but he realized he was done making decisions. He couldn't make himself feel bad about that loss, either. It was better this way.<p>

He sighed, pulled out his Beretta, and chambered a round. He'd lost his authority, but as Mat had said, he was still a cop. He had a lot of work to do.


	36. Last Stand

Chapter 33:

Last Stand

(REBECCA)

There were tennis shoes in her locker in the STARS office. Rebecca gladly changed into them, happy to finally be out of her boots. They were cute, but not the best thing in the world for running around in. She made a face. She hadn't ever managed to break them in, and the middle of the zombie apocalypse probably wasn't the best time to try. Her feet hurt. A lot.

"Huh. Never would've figured you for a cowgirl."

Rebecca whirled around, startled, at the voice, only to find Billy Coen standing in front of the closed door.

"Oh…It's _you_" she said coldly, not in the least bit happy to see him.

"Sorry I scared you" he replied, smiling that same slightly smug grin he'd worn when they'd first met, like he found Rebecca amusing.

"You didn't scare me" she replied. "I just…didn't hear you come in."

Billy nodded slowly, not buying it. "_Sure_." He pointed to the boots she'd just taken off. "So, what's the story with those? You moonlight at some little midnight rodeo? Does Dawson know? That doesn't seem like his style, but hey, who am I to judge? Just cuz your buddy's a massive asshole doesn't mean a thing to me."

Rebecca didn't rise to the bait. "What do you want, Billy?"

Billy raised his hands defensively. "Hey, hey. Easy there, doll face. Just calm down a little. I only want to talk."

"I'm not stopping you" she replied, irritably. "And no one calls me doll face."

"Where is all this _hostility_ coming from?" Billy asked, sounding genuinely confused. He leaned against the wall next to the fax machine, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought we were…buddies or some shit like that. What's the deal?"

"The _deal_ is you left me" Rebecca replied.

Billy rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me? That's what this is all about-?"

"I wasn't finished" Rebecca interrupted, glaring at him. "You left me. I understood that much. The others would've tried to arrest you, and my word would've have been enough. I get that." She paused, taking a deep breath. "But why are you still _here_? What are you doing still in Colorado, let alone Raccoon City?"  
>"I was…lying low" Billy said vaguely. "I didn't know what else to do."<p>

"Fine" Rebecca said. "Then why didn't you come looking for me? Why did you run when I saw you?"

"I…" Billy paused, thinking for a minute. "I didn't want to…complicate things for you. You're young, and you have your whole career ahead of you. I didn't want to jeopardize that by showing up on your front door."

"But you were perfectly willing to let me lie to my friends about you!" Rebecca snapped. "After all that, don't you think I deserved to know what happened to you?"

"Maybe" Billy said, not meeting her eyes. "Maybe you did…"

Rebecca snorted, standing up. "Maybe" she repeated, still angry, stepping past him and out the door. She paused there, not looking at him. "Was there something you wanted?"

"I heard you were going back into the city, so we could all get out of here" he replied.

"And?"  
>"And I just wanted to wish you luck" Billy replied. "I've been out there. You're gonna need it."<br>"Thanks, Billy" Rebecca said, heading down the hall. She didn't look back.

(CHASE)

Chase held the small medallion in one hand, studying the surface. "Unicorns" he said quietly. "Why?"

Rita shrugged. "This used to be an art museum. When the city converted it to the main precinct, they left most of the exhibits behind. I guess this is one of the leftovers."

"And, naturally, it's sitting on top of the sewer tunnel."

Rita smiled faintly. "Yeah. Odd, ain't it?"

"Odd is not the word I'd choose" said Mat, shaking his head. "Bat-shit crazy, maybe. But odd just doesn't quite do the stupidity of this justice."

Rita turned to look at him. "You were all fine with this a few minutes ago. Why the sudden change of heart?"  
>Mat pulled the magazine out of his P90 and began to slide bullets inside. <em>Snick. Snick. <em>"It's not the plan I have a problem with." _Snick. Snick. Snick._ "Just who's going."

"Who's going?" a voice asked.

Chase turned to see Rebecca coming toward them.

"I don't like you two going out there alone" he said. "Why don't I go with you?

"Mat, we've been over this" said Rebecca tiredly. "You need to stay here on the barricade. At least one of us needs to be here at all times. We're the only ones who have experience with this sort of thing."

Dean Travers, a beat cop who'd managed to stumble into the station about thirty minutes earlier, coughed loudly. "I beg to differ" he said irritably, resting his big SPAS-12 on his shoulder. The shotgun was huge and brutal, a bizarre South African selective fire 12-gauge, the sort of weapon it was illegal to own unless you happened to be a cop, and even then it was a little iffy. Still, Chase had seen Dean use the weapon to take down no less than fifteen zombies within five minutes of showing up at the station, so he wasn't inclined to complain. "I'd say some of us are pretty damn knowledgeable on this 'situation,' Chambers."

"You have experience with the zombies, yeah" Mat answered. "But there are other BOWs out there, and they make the undead outside look like something from a children's show by comparison."

"You mean there's _worse_ things out there?" exclaimed Dean, unshouldering the shotgun and pulling it close to his chest, like a life preserver. "_Shit._"

"So, Mat needs to stay here in case you get attacked by a pack of Hunters, or a Tyrant or something" Rebecca continued.

_Hunters? Tyrant? What the hell? _Chase wondered. _These things have _names_? It's almost like someone's been making the bastards…_

"Well, I suggest we get this party started" he said, placing the medallion in the niche apparently custom made for it on the fountain. There was a grinding noise and the statue, a Greek-looking woman in a flowing jug upending a jar from her shoulder, began to slide backward and up, as if she was on a ramp. A small gap opened up, little more than a crawl space. It was narrow and short, not much more than two feet tall.

"Shit" muttered Dean again, shaking his head. "Glad that's not me going down there."

"You'd rather stay up here with the zombies?" Rebecca asked, incredulous.

Dean nodded. "Oh, definitely. There's no way to _move_ down there, you know? Rather stay up here and die breathing fresh air, rather than die down there in that spider hole."

Rebecca's face went a little pale, but she squared her shoulders and drew her handgun, clicking on the light mounted on the bottom rail. "Okay, I'll go first. Rita, you just follow me."

Rita nodded. "Roger that. Y'all just lead the way."

Chase patted Rita on the shoulder, then nodded to Rebecca. "You girls be careful down there."

She nodded, then turned to Mat. "Well, um…"

They looked at each other for a moment, then Mat leaned forward and gave her a hug. Chase could've sworn he heard Rebecca's back pop, and she winced slightly. "Just come back" Mat told her. "Promise me that, alright?"

Rebecca smiled and nodded. "Of course. You just promise me you'll still be in one piece when I get back, okay?"

"Yeah. I think I can do that."

Rita smiled and clapped Mat on the back. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll make sure your girlfriend gets back in one piece."

Mat and Rebecca both went red.

"We're not…"

"That isn't…"

"I mean, not that she's not…"

"But…you know…"

"Don't you think you'd be best getting on the move?" Chase asked.

Rebecca nodded. "Uh…right. Of course." She took Mat's hand and awkwardly shook it. "Well Mathias, it's been fun." Then, without waiting for a response, she got down on her hands and knees, and began to crawl down the tunnel. After waiting a moment, Rita followed suit.

No sooner had they disappeared into the darkness did the statue begin to slide back down. Chase, Mat, and Dean all leapt forward, trying to slow it down, but it was no good. With a scrapping groan, the statue slid back into place.

"Shit" Dean said, shaking his head. "Now what?"

Chase looked from him to Chase, then at the few other officers and citizens standing in the lobby. "We wait" he said, unshouldering his M14. "If you need me, I'll be hunting zombies. Anyone want to come?"

(CINDY)

The rooftop looked like a battlefield, which, Cindy allowed, made sense, since it had been until about five minutes ago.

George had sent her upstairs to collect any wounded, along with any weapons left by those who wouldn't need them anymore. He'd sent Kevin along in case the birds came back, or someone reanimated while she was up there.

Kevin had a pair of big, dark blue RPD duffel bags slung over his shoulder. "Let's get this over with" he said nervously, looking around at the dark red clouds overhead. "I feel like I'm being watched. Don't you?"

Cindy nodded. "Yeah. I wanna go back down, too."

The police had made a pretty good showing against the undead crows who'd dive-bombed. For every cop lost, they'd probably killed at least a hundred, maybe even a hundred and fifty of the deranged birds. Cindy couldn't be sure. All she knew was the roof was covered in loose feathers and the broken bodies of the crows. She had to walk slowly because it was also slick with their blood, and she had to be careful or she'd slip and fall in it. Despite everything she'd been through, she'd somehow managed to keep her waitress uniform more or less clean, and she wanted, for some strange reason, to keep it that way.

She and Kevin split up, Cindy making his way to the bodies still on the roof, Kevin picking up the various handguns, shotguns, and rifles strewn all over the roof, along with the assorted magazines and clips for those weapons.

Cindy knelt beside a man propped against an air conditioning unit. There was a widening pool of blood around his body, and his face, arms, and chest were a horrible crisscross of scratches. Despite that, the man coughed wetly and looked up when Cindy approached.

"Maggie?" he croaked weakly, stretching a bloody hand toward her.

"Kevin!" she shouted, waving to him. "Kevin, we've got a live one!"

"Maggie…" the cop said, his voice trailing off, as Kevin rushed over to him.

"What happened?" he asked, looking down at the man.

"Maggie" the man repeated, not taking his eyes off Cindy. "Maggie, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

"What's he talking about?" Cindy asked, looking over at Kevin. "Who's Maggie?"

Kevin's face had an expression of grim sadness. "I think he means you" he said quietly.

"Me?"  
>"Maggie, please…forgive me" the officer said. "I'm so sorry…I just wasn't…good enough…in the end."<p>

Cindy shook her head. "No, it's not your fault. Please, just hang on…"

The man shook his head, reaching up for her face, his fingers touching her cheek. "You are so…beautiful" he said, his eyes dim and unfocused. "Maggie, I'm so sorry." He paused, shifting awkwardly, pulling a large weapon up from the roof. "Here…take this. Use it…better than me" he said, handing her the submachine gun.

Cindy dumbly took the heavy weapon, astonished that the wounded cop had been able to hand it to her one handed. "Please, hang on…"

"Maggie…" the man said again, softly, before sinking back against the air conditioner. With a final sigh, the breath escaped his lungs, and he was still.

Cindy and Kevin stood together, staring at the dead officer.

"What was his name?" Cindy asked.

Kevin shook his head. "I don't know" he said quietly. "I may have seen him once or twice, maybe I even talked to him a few times. But I never even learned his name." He shook his head. "I wonder if anyone downstairs would." He paused, reached into the man's pocket, and removed his wallet. He flipped it open, taking a look at his driver's license. "Well, at least I know where to send this now." He pulled a pair of SMG magazines from the man's vest, then gently shut his eyes, before turning to look at Cindy. "I think we're done here. Let's go back down. I have a feeling they're gonna need both of us before too long."

"Yeah." Cindy looked over at the dead man one last time, then stood and followed Kevin off the roof.

(MAT)

Mat stood with Aaron and Dean at the gap in the fence, near the zombie attracting grenades. The flares had burned down, but the horrible, sickly sweet stench of rot still hung over the area, and the infected were still coming, shambling along the street toward the gap in the RPD's defenses.

Fortunately the undead weren't actually intelligent enough to have realized the fence was the station's weak point. They were swarming all over the station, pounding at the boarded up windows, rattling the perimeter fences, and generally making a lot of noise, which, combined with their nearly constant moaning, was enough to dry anyone crazy.

Mat clicked his P90 over to semi-auto. Beside him, Dean twisted the barrel of his SPAS, shifting the weapon to pump action. Mat had yet to figure the utility of that option out, although the Benelli M3s the station used also had that ability. It made no sense to him, but now probably wasn't the time to worry about it.

Aaron was carrying a regular pump-action, an Ithaca Model 37, the infamous "Stakeout" of police lore. Mat had qualified with the short barreled, stockless weapon, but that had only proved to him he didn't care for it. The thing kicked like a mule, and with no stock, you had to have arms like Chris Redfield to fire it with anything resembling accuracy.

Mat paused. He hadn't thought about the STARS officer for several days. Up until yesterday, he thought Chris was in the dangerous situation, preparing to storm Umbrella's HQ with a potentially untrustworthy bunch of strangers. Now he was beginning to wonder if he hadn't gotten out of Raccoon City in time.

He hadn't had time to think about the other survivors. He had no idea what had happened to Brad Vickers, but then, he didn't know the man very well at all. Barry Burton had apparently gotten out of town in a hurry, packing his family up and heading for parts unknown in fear of some Umbrella reprisal. And as for Jill…

He couldn't help being angry with her. Jill was a cop, even if she _was_ suspended. _Rebecca_, with her lack of combat training and general inexperience, had shown up at the precinct, ready to do what she could. A part of Mat couldn't wait to see Jill again. He just hoped she had a good excuse for being AWOL when he did. Otherwise…

The sound of Aaron racking the pump of his shotgun brought Mat out of his thoughts.

"That's gonna be a little loud, don't you think?" Dean asked, eyeing him, apparently forgetting for the moment what weapon he was carrying.

"Nah" Aaron replied grimly, watching the zombies pick up speed as they staggered toward the fence. "The bastards already know we're here." He brought the Ithaca to his shoulder. "Let's get to work."

(KEVIN)

Kevin plopped the duffel on the folding table in the center of the RPD building's lobby and slid the zipper down its length. "Take what you can fire" he said simply.

He was the only cop present. There were four men with him: Jim the cowardly transit worker, David the asshole plumber, and two mercenaries named Dustin and Karl. Both soldiers had their own weapons: an H&K G3 battle rifle for Dustin and an AK-74 for Karl. The others were unarmed, and Kevin wasn't sure about giving either of them guns. Jim because he didn't seem trustworthy, and David because…he _really_ didn't seem trustworthy.

But both had volunteered, Jim upfront, David as if the suggestion ought to have been obvious, and Kevin _should_ have been asking him. Kevin was having a hard time not hating the other man.

Jim pulled a big chromed handgun from the bag, hefting it awkwardly. "How about this?" he asked, showing Kevin the Desert Eagle…by pointing it at him.

Kevin hastily grabbed the weapon and shoved it back in the bag. "No…no, I don't think that's such a good fit." He reached down and pulled out a Beretta Cougar, handing the compact 9mm to the other man. "Why don't you try this?"

Jim took the Cougar and studied it for a moment. "Yeah…" he said quietly. "Yeah, I think this could do it."

David shouldered past him, reached into the bag, and snatched up a snub-nosed .44 magnum, a Smith and Wesson Model 29. "This'll work" he said matter-of-factly, grabbing a box of ammo and a pair of speed loaders, then heading for the door.

Muttering to himself, Kevin led the others outside. "Remember" he said, drawing his Colt and looking at them. "Our job is just to stall. No heroics. And don't waste ammo" he added pointedly to Jim. "We don't have that much left."

The two mercenaries nodded. "Understood, officer" said Karl. Dustin, the other one, just nodded sullenly. Kevin was finding he was also a bit of an ass, if not quite in the same league as David.

Speaking of David, the plumber wasn't looking at him, wasn't paying any attention at all. He just paced back and forth on the pavement outside the station, like a small tiger with a massive chip on his shoulder, like he was spoiling for a fight.

Jim kept looking around nervously, his eyes wide, as if he expected danger to come from any direction.

Instead, it came from them all.

Zombies suddenly began flop over the sides of the walls, while others wiggled like enormous worms underneath the big wrought iron gates.

"Alright guys, this is it!" Kevin shouted, aiming down the .45's sights. "Let's go!"

(REBECCA)

Whatever she could say about the Umbrella caused zombie outbreak in Raccoon City, it was definitely introducing her to new people. Granted, not all the people she'd met were especially pleasant (the officer who'd tried to murder her in the interrogation room immediately sprang to mind). But she'd also met Maddie, and now Rita, two other women she felt a strong connection to, the sort of people she'd never have talked to but for their circumstances, but who she had some much in common with.

Rita was a cheerful individual, and Rebecca found her twangy accent appealing; it brought an air of good humor to her voice. Rita was an optimist at heart, not loosing her confidence despite the situation. She made the journey through the cramped tunnels if not bearable, than at least tolerable.

Rita, it turned out, could talk about just about anything, and for however long the situation required. As they crawled through the tunnel, Rita kept up a steady dialogue about all kinds of things, from armored car engines (Rita said she could speak to them) to dogs (Rita said they spoke to _her_) to her childhood in Alabama (she'd lived in Raccoon City until she was about five, when her family had decided to head East). Rebecca, who'd grown up in Arizona, was intrigued by stories of the Deep South, which, Rita assured her, wasn't really as bad as popular culture would have her believe.

"Sure, we hard our rough patch back in the 50's and 60's" she allowed. "But except for a few old folks and some other idiots, most of us would just like to put all that behind us."

Rebecca was willing to let Rita carry the conversation. The sound of her voice from behind was reassuring, and her monologue gave Rebecca something to focus on besides the events of the past hour.

Two thoughts, images really, kept flashing up in her mind:

_That psychopathic cop staring down at her, a hungry gleam in his eye as he tried his best to squeeze the life out of her…_

_ Mat staring at her, worry written on his face, apologizing frantically, then leaning forward…_

The competing strains of _Holy crap I almost died _and _Holy crap Mat kissed me_ were bouncing around in her head like a pair of hyper-active hedgehogs, and Rebecca was concerned her brain would explode unless she did something about them.

Well, she'd solved one problem pretty well; Michael Guthrie would never hurt another girl, Rebecca had made sure of that. As for the other…

_My best friend kissed me_. _Worse, I kissed him back! And I kind of liked it…_She didn't know _what_ to do about Mat. She liked him, she cared about him, and it was pretty darn clear he cared about her too, but now was almost certainly not the time to start something like that.

And then there was Billy. Rebecca had had feelings, or thought she'd had feelings for him back in July. Now she suspected it had just been the heat of the moment, the adrenaline, the fact that he was the only other person locked in the nightmare Marcus had created in the Arklay Forest. Now she wasn't so sure; she was seeing what kind of man Billy was, and while she didn't hate him like Mat did (she wondered if her buddy wasn't just a little jealous), she didn't think he was someone she could ever…love.

_And that's what it all boils down to_ she realized. Rebecca hadn't really been in any relationships before; she been surrounded perpetually by older guys, who either saw her as the weird genius kid and were threatened by her smarts, or just saw her as someone vulnerable who they could take advantage of. She'd gotten hurt a couple times, and that had been enough to cure her of any curiosity.

Until now, anyway. And this was probably the worst time to even be worrying about such things, but now that the seed had been planted, Rebecca found her thoughts kept sliding back in that direction. It was pretty irritating, but there wasn't much she could do about it, either.

The end of the tunnel offered her a reprieve. "Hey, Rita" she said, interrupting the other woman's spirited monologue about Joshua trees, two of which had apparently grown in her front yard as a kid. "I think we're here."

"Really?" the other woman asked. "About time! I'm sicka bein' stuck down here!"

"You and me both" Rebecca answered, awkwardly climbing the steps at the end of the tunnel. She kept the Samurai Edge trained ahead, both for the light mounted at the bottom, and because who knew what was lurking down here with them.

It turned out to be a blank wall lying in wait for them. Rebecca tapped it with her knuckle, then turned to Rita. "Now what?"

"It must be some sort of door" she replied. "Maybe we can shift it?" she suggested, moving over so her shoulder was against the wall and leaning against it. "C'mon, give me a hand here."

Rebecca thought for a moment, then flicked the safety down on her handgun, before joining Rita in the effort. After about a minute and a half of straining, the wall slowly began to give way, a loud groaning noise coming from the bottom as it shifted.

"Eureka!" shouted Rita, her excitement palpable. "We've got it now!"

With a last creak, the wall slid forward and Rebecca and Rita found themselves kneeling in front of a series of stone steps in a dimly lit building. The two female police officers exchanged a smile.

"We did it, buddy!" Rita exclaimed, giving Rebecca a high-five.

"That's very sweet" said a woman's voice from up above them. "Now, you two have about three seconds to explain who you are and what you're doing here." This last sentence was punctuated by the racking of a shotgun.

"Son of a _bitch_" Rita swore quietly. Rebecca found she could agree with the sentiment, if not the words themselves.

(MAT) 

"Dropping mag!" he shouted, ejecting the Colt magazine and slamming in a fresh one.

"Roger that!" Dean shouted back, shifting his field of fire to decapitate a zombie jogger with the SPAS-12. He tried to shoot another one immediately after, only to have the shotgun click at him. "Shit!" he cried, swinging the weapon's folding stock like a club, snapping the undead man's jaw and spinning him around in a circle. "I'm out!" he exclaimed, digging into a pouch for spare shells.

"Use your pistol!" Aaron yelled. He'd long since exhausted the shells in the Stakeout, and without a stock, the weapon was useless even as a club. He'd slung the Ithaca over his shoulder, then drawn his Browning and started shooting, but it was clear he wasn't as proficient with the handgun. A zombie Mat or Dean could take down with one or two shots took him three or four. And they just kept coming, drawn by the noise of their shooting and the other zombie's moans.

Mat had switched to the Colt pretty fast. He had a lot more ammo for the handgun anyway, and he quickly found it had about the same effective range as the P90. Unfortunately, he also found the monster pistol kicked like a pissed off mule. He fired as fast as he could, knowing his wrists were going to hold it against him later, but also knowing the mere _idea_ of later was contingent on shooting as quickly as possible.

He shot a zombie at point blank, watching fragments of bone shoot out the back of her skull as she dropped to the ground, then spun and drove his elbow into the face of another, feeling his skull crack under his elbow pad. He was eternally grateful to David Ford for suggesting the things; they were more than worth it.

Dean managed to jam three shells into the SPAS. He spun, racked the pump, and immediately fired them one after another, destroying the head and upper bodies of three nearby infected. "Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he shouted, reloading again. "Well, come on! There's plenty more!"

Mat shot a zombie in the knee, then slammed his own knee into its head, putting it down and propelling its body into two more. All three undead, only one no longer a threat, toppled to the ground.

"Thing it might be time to call it a day?" he shouted to Aaron, but the other man shook his head.

"No! We've got to keep at it! Every zombie we take down here is one less for us to worry about later."  
>Mat could see the barrel of Enrico's Colt starting to turn red. He'd never seen a handgun do that before; the P90 had only done it once, at the range back in December of last year, when he'd first bought the weapon on consignment. It wasn't fun when an SMG did it during practice. It was even worse when a handgun did it during close combat with zombies.<p>

"Fuck it!" Dean shouted, slinging his SPAS and drawing his Beretta 92, the fat black handgun the RPD was slowly issuing to its beat cops. He proved to be a much better shot with it than Aaron was with his pistol, dropping a pair of zombies with two precise rounds.

Still, it was a drop in the bucket, compared to the other zombies swarming into the small enclosure.

Mat reached down with his left-hand and yanked Rain's knife out of its sheath, holding the blade pointed down. He jammed it into the face of a zombie, then kicked it off the blade, dark blood staining the cold steel.

A detached part of his mind realized he was using two weapons given to him by two totally different dead people. Despite that, he suspected Rain and Enrico would've liked each other had they ever met. He wondered if the devout cop and the wayward mercenary were up in heaven, watching the struggles of their friends from on high, silently urging them on…

Dean's shout was Mat's only warning.

"Watch out!"

He spun just in time to see an infected dog, what Umbrella would've called an Ma-39 Cerberus (whatever the fuck _that_ meant) leaping toward him, jaws open wide beneath its unearthly glowing eyes. He braced himself for the feeling of its teeth tearing into his body, knowing he wouldn't be able to react in time.

Except the pain never came. Instead, he saw another shape, this one in dark blue, step between him and the undead canine.

The Cerberus clamped down hard on Aaron's forearm, worrying the skin left and right with its teeth, tearing it to shreds in less than five seconds. Aaron screamed in pain, stumbling backward.

A second later, Dean's handgun barked twice, two rounds striking the dog's back and severing its spine. The Cerberus suddenly went limp, its teeth going numb as it dropped to the ground, where it lay, whimpering in a widening pool of its own blood.

"Shit shit _shit_!" Aaron said through gritted teeth, looking down at the ravaged skin of his right arm. "Damn it, I was so _close_!"

"It's okay, man" said Dean, stepping forward. "We'll get you to the infirmary, have them check you out-"

"No, I'm finished" he replied, looking over at Mat. "Right? I've got it, don't I?"

Mat nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'm sorry man, but that's how Edward Dewey bought it back in July."  
>"Son of a bitch" Aaron said softly, looking down at the bright blood running between his fingers. "Figures." He sighed, shaking his head. "Well, there's nothing for it." He turned to Mat and Dean. "You too had better get out of here. I'll hold 'em off now."<br>"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. "There's no way we're leaving you here!"

"He's infected" Mat told him. "He's gonna turn into one of those things before too much longer."

Dean sent him an incredulous look. "What do you mean?"  
>"He's gonna become a zombie" Mat explained. "I've seen it before, back in July."<br>"No shit?" Dean asked. "You mean, that stuff with STARS? That was _this_?"

"There's no time for discussion" Aaron said, grimacing. Already his face was deathly pale. Mat didn't think he was going to last much longer; certainly not as long as Rain had. "You two have got to get out of here. Those fuckers…they're attracted to blood. It won't be long before they're swarming this place."

Dean still wasn't quite caught up. "But-"

Aaron turned to Mat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the part I played in what happened in July, in Irons' cover up. I've tried to do my best to make amends for that, but I still don't feel right for what I helped he and Welles do to you and STARS." He reached into his pocket. "Maybe these will make things right."  
>Mat took the two keys Aaron held out. "You've got nothing to be sorry for" he said. "You've been a good cop…I hope, when the time comes, I can die having done as much as you." He looked down at the keys. One was cold, grey metal, while the other was a shiny silver color. "What are these for?"<br>"The silver one is so you can help me keep a promise to an old friend" Aaron replied. "The grey one is so you can help the truth get out."

Mat was about to ask for a little clarity, only to have a deep throated roar sound from down the street, answered by several more. _Oh, hell_ he thought. _A crimson head. Worse, that's more than one!_

"Go, _go_!" Aaron shouted, pushing Mat and Dean back toward the door. "And make sure you lock that behind you. I'm not coming back."  
>Dean paused for a minute. "Good luck" he said finally.<p>

But he spoke to Aaron's back. The other officer had turned to face the oncoming horde, his Browning clutched in a two handed grip, steadying his aim despite the vicious wound on his arm and the blood dripping down to the concrete.

Mat heard him open fire as he pulled the door closed. Five, six, seven shots, the moans of the dying zombies growing closer and closer. Then three more round in quick succession, a pause, and one final, echoing gunshot about thirty seconds after that.

"What do you think happened?" Dean asked.

Mat was about to reply, but a frantic pounding at the door cut him off. The zombies had gotten past Aaron, and were now trying to break the door down.

"Come on" he said, waving for Dean to follow him. "We've got to report this to Chase. And it looks like you need to be filled in on the situation."

(REBECCA) 

"Well?" the voice prompted. Rebecca could just make out the barrel of a shotgun poking out of the shadows, close enough that one blast would almost certainly be the death of both herself and Rita.

"Hold it!" she shouted, drawing on the hidden reserves of authority she hadn't know she had until entering the police force. "We're cops!"

"Oh…really?" the woman at the other end of the shotgun sounded genuinely put out. "Well…_crap_. I'm sorry, ladies. I had no idea." She paused, gesturing with the shotgun. "It's okay, kids. It's the police."

_Kids?_ Rebecca found herself wondering as she and Rita climbed the stairs toward the woman with the shotgun.

"I'm so sorry" she was saying. "It's just…I didn't know what to do, and with all the children here…" She was an older woman, grey-black hair tied up in a bun atop her head, subdued clothes from another era. With the shotgun held awkwardly in one hand, she looked like a schoolmarm from a _very_ old western.

"Where are we?" Rebecca asked, looking around. The room they stood in had high, vaulted ceilings with big ornate columns, and for a few horrified seconds she was afraid she'd somehow led Rita back into the Umbrella Training Center. But only a moment, because there was an air of hominess to this place, of sanctuary, as if nothing could _really_ go wrong here.

Rebecca looked back at the grey-haired woman, who was now surrounded by about fifteen elementary school-aged children, and mentally cringed. _Oh no, not _more_ kids_ she silently pleaded.

"The children were here for an activity" the woman was explaining. "When those…people showed up, I locked the doors and brought them in here. I'm afraid I had to move some of the shelves around, but you know, I've always thought a little change was good every now and again." She chuckled nervously to herself, and some of her hair had come loose from the bun. It gave her a slightly…demented appearance.

Demented or not, she still had answers for Rebecca. "Where are we?" she asked again, a little bit more forcefully.

"What do you mean, where are you?" the old woman replied with a question of her own. "Why, dearie, you're in the Spencer Library, of course!"

(YOKO)

Alyssa and Yoko were loitering outside by the basement steps when Mat and another officer approached them. "What's going here?" he asked. "You two planning to sneak out again? Honestly, I'm not your parent, you know."

"Fuck-" Alyssa began.

"Off" Mat finished. "Yeah, you're pretty fond of that phrase, I've noticed. Most unladylike." When Alyssa opened her mouth again, he raised a finger. "Really?"

"Screw you" she said, just as forcefully.

Mat snorted. "Better. Now really. What are you two doing here?"

"We were with the K-9 officer, Tony" Yoko explained, trying to diffuse the situation before Mat and Alyssa shot each other. "He said he needed to go check on someone downstairs. Told us to wait here. And he…"

"He hasn't come back" Alyssa finished, using the abrasive tone she seemed to save for the male portion of humanity.

"So…you just stayed here?" the other officer asked. Yoko could make out the name TRAVERS on his uniform.

"Look, buddy, what did you expect us to do?" Alyssa demanded. "He's a cop, we figured he was trained. Besides, he hasn't called for help. He's gotta be fine, right?"

Yoko expected a hot response from Mat, but instead he nodded. "That was probably the smartest thing you ladies could've done" he said, smiling faintly, before turning to Officer Travers. "C'mon Dean, let's go find out what happened to Tony."

Dean looked down the darkened staircase, at the equally dark hallway. "It's dark" he muttered. "Wonderful."

The two police officers made their way down the stairs. Somehow, Yoko and Alyssa found themselves close behind, careful to stay back out the two men's way, but following nonetheless. After a moment, Alyssa pulled her handgun out of her maroon colored slacks, holding it down low, both hands wrapped around the grip.

Mat and Dean both clicked on flashlights mounted on the sides of their weapons, sweeping the beams in overlapping arcs, heads constantly swiveling. Yoko, who'd never held a firearm in her entire life, found herself wishing for a gun. She felt very alone and vulnerable down here, alone among their group as the only one who didn't have a weapon.

They were in a T shaped hallway, with sterile white walls. At the junction, Mat pointed to the left, gesturing for Dean to go ahead, while he'd follow behind. He turned, cast an irritated glance at Alyssa, then motioned them ahead of him. He followed behind, walking slightly sideways, keeping his weapon trained on the darkness. Yoko wondered why the lights were out.

Dean was waiting for them at the end of the hall, facing a single white door, the word GARAGE written on in large black letters. Mat took a position opposite him, then turned and booted the door open, allowing both cops to enter the pitch black room on the other side.

"Shit" said Dean, shaking his head as he swept his shotgun back and forth. "I can't see anything."

"Quiet" Mat said, sweeping his weapon in the other direction. "I hear something…"

They swept their flashlights in short, quick arcs, trying to find the source of the slurping sound, which seemed to be coming from everywhere inside the darkened garage.

Then, suddenly caught in the illumination, they found the noisemaker: a dog, buried up to its middle in the corpse of a mechanic, worrying at the body from the inside, its rear up in the air.

"Oh God!" Yoko exclaimed, unable to contain herself.

Mat and Dean both opened fire, tearing the dog apart. Unfortunately, it wasn't alone. Somehow, the RPD's garage had become infested with zombie dogs. And they were hungry.

Yoko saw Dean spin around, the illumination from his shotgun falling on a monster ready to pounce, then jerking slightly up as he fired, blasting it apart. Alyssa fired in all directions. Yoko could hear bullets striking the walls; it was clear she wasn't actually hitting anything.

Mat was firing his weapon in short bursts, knocking dogs out of the air as they tried to pounce on him with practiced ease. Then, all of a sudden, it wasn't so easy. Mat reacted too slowly, and a dog managed to slam into him, its weight knocking him off his feet.

Mat landed on his back, his weapon pinned to his chest. The dog leaned forward, grabbing for his throat, but Mat caught its throat with his left hand, managing to keep it literally at an arm's length. With his right hand he pulled out a knife and began to furiously stab at the monster's body, but he didn't seem to be having much affect.

"Shit" Dean swore, leveling his shotgun, but not taking the shot. At this range, he'd tear them both apart, and he knew it.

Yoko didn't know why she did what she did. It was as if something just seized her. She had no clear recollection of what happened: one minute she was standing behind Alyssa, cowering in fear, and the next she'd run forward, raised her foot, and kicked the dog as viciously as possible off Mat.

The dog let out a yelp of surprise and rolled onto its side. A second later, it was back on its feet, its front legs bent low, growling as it prepared to lunge.

Then Mat rolled as well, aiming the same chromed handgun he'd used when she'd first met him. Mat fired twice, the handgun reports booming in the open space, and the dog let out another, more final yelp, then was still.

Mat shoved the handgun into his holster, then slowly stood up. "Thanks" he said to Yoko, picking his knife up off the floor. As he did so, she caught another glimpse of the emblem on the hilt in the glare of Dean's flashlight. And just like the last time she'd seen it, Yoko's world spun.

A parade of images flashed before her eyes:

_A woman in a yellow jacket sneering at her, telling her she was "Nothing but a little girl."_

_ A blond haired man in sunglasses and another with a short brown goatee studying a chart. "This one shows promise" the man with sunglasses said, nodding toward her._

_ A tall, thin man with a German accent, complaining about "lack of combat aptitude." She saw a name tag attached to his shirt. CAIN._

_ A wall, a large red and white polygon painted on it, a jumble of words beneath. Yoko caught only one: Hive._

_ She saw, or thought she saw, Mat, lying in a bed a few feet away from the one she was in. She was surrounded by dozens of such beds, each one containing a person. "This one's awake" said the man with the goatee, and now Yoko could see his tag. BIRKIN._

_ She was on a bed, being wheeled down a hallway. It came to a stop past a pair of swinging doors, beneath a bright light. A middle-aged man with thinning platinum blond hair leaned over her, looking down over a surgical mask. His voice sounded soothing. His words were anything but. "You know the drill by now, Yoko" he said. "I suggest you brace yourself-"_

Yoko felt pain wash over her body. She felt a scream escape her lips, and her vision went white. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the floor, Alyssa, Mat, and Dean standing over her, looking down in concern.

"What happened?" Alyssa asked, offering her a hand.

"I-I don't know" she replied, shaking her head. "I just…I can't explain it."

"Shit" Dean said, from where he was squatting beside something on the floor. "Mat, you better take a look at this."

Mat nodded. "Okay. Be right there." Then he turned to Yoko. "Thanks. Looks like we're even now."

Yoko shook her head. "No. I still owe you one."

Mat shrugged. "If you say so." Then he turned and headed over to Dean. "What is it-shit!"

Yoko and Alyssa turned to see a bloodied body lying in front of the cops. It was the same one the dog had been inside. There wasn't much left.

"Oh God" Alyssa said quietly. "It's Tony."  
>"Man" Dean said quietly. "What a way to go. He loved these dogs, too."<p>

Mat knelt down beside the dog they'd killed first. "This isn't one of ours" he said, pointing to the collar. "Looks like a stray. I heard Tony was taking in strays. Guy really did love animals. Looks like it didn't pay off so well this time. He must've let it in, thought he was being humanitarian." He sighed, then leveled his submachine gun one handed and shot the dead cop in the head.

"The fuck?" Dean exclaimed, stepping back. "That's disrespect!"  
>Mat shook his head. "No. That's mercy. He won't come back now." He looked over at the two women. "You know what I'm talking about, right?"<br>Alyssa and Yoko nodded. "Yeah" they both said, within a few seconds of each other.

Mat smiled faintly. "Good. Knowledge, here and now, really is power." He pulled something out of his pocket and headed toward a door at the end of the room. "I have something I need to take care of" he explained, half turning toward Alyssa. "You're gonna want to come with me. This is something you need to see."

Alyssa nodded, looking curious. "Okay. What is it?"  
>"Not a what" Mat replied, pulling the door open. "A who." He waved them down the dark hallway.<p>

"Where are we going?" Alyssa asked, after a few minutes. "Damn it!" she exclaimed a second later when her arm connected with a table she hadn't seen in the darkness.

"You'll see" Mat replied.

"I highly doubt that" Alyssa retorted, but didn't ask a second time.

Soon enough, they came to a sliding door, made of something similar to mesh.

"What's in there?" Yoko asked, a little intimidated by the imposing metal doors.

"Look up" said Dean, sounding uncomfortable.

"Answers" said Mat, confidently. He took hold of the edge of the door, then slid it to the left. "Ladies, after you."

Yoko followed Alyssa through the door, then heard Mat slide it closed behind them. She half turned, afraid he'd locked them inside, but saw that he and Dean had followed them in.

"What's going on here, Dawson?" Alyssa asked, irritated. "I don't have time for your games-"

"Alyssa? Is that you?" a voice from at the end of the room asked. "Mat? What are you two doing here?"  
>"Ben? God, you're still here?" Alyssa exclaimed, shocked. She ran toward the source of the noise. "I'm sorry. I totally forgot about you!"<p>

Yoko followed the others to the cell at the end of the hall. One the other side of the bars was a short, pudgy man. He was generally sloppy looking, with a greasy ponytail of brown hair tied loosely behind his head and several wrinkles in his shirt and trousers. A red and white pack of cigarettes peeked out of his breast pocket. All in all, he didn't look especially dangerous, and Yoko couldn't figure out why he was in the cell, or why Dean kept fingering the trigger of his shotgun and glaring at the man.

"Smokes are new" said Mat. "How'd you get those?"

"Cop named Aaron" Ben replied. "He kept coming down here. Checking up on me, like. He asked if I needed anything, and I told him I'd _kill_ for some cigarettes. He's been the only guy who's been to see me up till now." He shook his head. "Odd. I was under the impression he was part of Irons' loyal officers. One of those dirty SWAT types." He paused, looking at Mat. "No offense, I mean. I haven't seen him for a while. I wonder where he is."

Mat looked down for a moment. "Ben…I have some bad news. Aaron…he's dead."

Ben's eyes went wide. "How? When?"

"Just a few minutes ago. He saved my life, but in the process…he got infected" Mat said quietly. "He managed to go out a hero."

Ben nodded slowly. "Damn. He seemed like a nice guy." He paused. "Hang on. What do you mean, infected? The virus? Oh God, it didn't get loose, did it?"  
>Mat nodded. "About an hour or two before they came and got me out of here. It's pretty bad up top. The RPD has fallen back to this station. Apart from here, I don't know what the situation is. That's why we're here" he continued. "Before he died, Aaron gave me this key. I recognized the design. It's one of the cell keys. I suspect he was planning to let you out when the RPD abandoned the station. When he realized he wouldn't be leaving, he gave it to me."<p>

"Damn" Ben said again, softly. Then he turned to Alyssa. "Please tell me you've still got the data I gave you."  
>"You mean those encrypted files you gave me?" Alyssa asked. She patted her shoulder bag. "Yeah, they're still on my laptop. Unfortunately, I don't have the key, so they're not very useful to-"<p>

"The password is Bethany" Ben said.

"Bethany?"

"She was someone who…never mind. It's not important. Look, you _have_ to get those files out there. The fate of the world could be at stake."

Alyssa snorted. "_P-lease_. Don't be so melodramatic, Ben. It really doesn't suit you."

"Listen up!" Ben snapped. "I put up with the self centered bitch routine from you because I think you're a good reporter, but I've had it! The time's come for you to grow up and take some responsibility. Otherwise, Umbrella's just going to bury the truth down here with Raccoon City."

"Umbrella?" Dean asked. "What have they got to do with this?"  
>Ben looked at him like he was an idiot. "Mat? Where'd you find this guy?"<p>

"Be nice" said Mat. "He's just…a little out of the loop. Why don't you fill him in?"

Ben nodded. "Alright. But it's a long story."  
>"Condense" Dean replied simply. "Time is not exactly on our side anymore."<p>

Ben nodded. "Okay. Here goes-"

Ben talked for about twenty minutes. Alyssa kept snorting derisively, as if she'd heard it before and didn't believe this story. Mat didn't say much either, although according to Ben he was one of the principle characters in something that sounded more like a bad science fiction movie than the real world.

Still, the reality of the situation had already hit Yoko hard. She'd seen some truly horrific things in the past few hours, and now she was open to anything.

When Ben was finished, Dean shook his head. "No shit" he said quietly. "This is…this is crazy."

"Any crazier than anything you saw on the street?" Mat asked.

Dean shook his head. "When I was out there, on patrol…I got a call to a super market. God, I can't even remember the name of the place." He sighed, shaking his head again, this time as if he wanted to clear it. "When we got there, things had pretty much wound down. Two people were dead, the manager and a customer. Apparently a crazy homeless person wandered in and attacked them." He closed his eyes, shuddering a little. "God, it was horrible. There was blood _everywhere_. This dude…he _ate_ those people. I've never seen anything like it in my life." He looked up, his eyes going from Mat to Ben to Alyssa and Yoko. "And you know what the worst part was? They got back up! Those people, the dead ones, you know? They _got back up_. Just like that. Like it was normal."

"I'm not crazy. I _know_ when somebody's dead. I know the signs. No pulse. No respiration. Their fucking _jugular_ torn out. These folks were dead. Dead, dead, _dead_. And then, all of a sudden, they weren't. Just like that." He snapped his fingers.

He was quiet for a minute, and Yoko thought he was done. But Dean started shaking, his face turning pale. "They got up, and these fuckers were hungry." He kept his gaze focused on the floor, like he was seeing the whole thing again, projected on the cold concrete slab. "They attacked the other customers. They attacked me and my partner. They ignored our warnings. We had to shoot, we had no choice. But…it didn't matter." He shuddered. "Oh God…Ben. I can still hear him screaming..." He shook his head again, clearing his vision. "I'm gonna remember that forever."

He looked back up, finally, his breathing returning to normal. "So yeah, I guess I do believe you. The question now is this: what do we do about it? How do we make these guys pay for what they've done to us? What they've made us do to each other?"  
>"We keep living" Mat replied. "Living's the best thing we can do right now. While we're alive, the truth is alive with us. We've got to get the word out. We've got to make sure Umbrella gets what's coming to them." He looked at the others. "Are you in?"<p>

Well folks, sorry for the long wait. It's been a crazy couple of weeks; I hope this chapter is long enough for you (it tops out at 17 pages single space in Word, so it _should_ be…).

In case you're wondering, the character of Dean Travers isn't mine. He actually belongs to a buddy of mind, Jammer69er, who agreed to letting me use him. Thanks, James. :)

Anyway, please post me a review, if you don't mind. Those have kind of dropped off, and I'm not sure why that keeps happening.

Anyway, take care, and happy St. Patrick's Day!

-Godzillafan93


	37. Exodus

Chapter 34: Exodus

(REBECCA)

The old woman, whose name was Loretta, led the two cops down a narrow corridor between the tall wooden bookcases. She had her shotgun resting on her shoulder, making her look all the more like something out of an old Western. The children followed on all sides, quiet forms in the shadows, like wraiths. Only the nervous shuffle of their feet and the occasional whispered remark let Rebecca know they were real.

"Spencer…" she asked, watching Loretta out of the corner of her eye. That name sounded familiar for some reason. She'd heard it before, but she couldn't remember where…

Then they rounded a corner, and Rebecca gasped, half drawing her handgun. Loretta let out a squawk of protest, while Rita swore and groped for her own weapon.

Then Rebecca felt like an idiot and let out the breath she'd taken, slowly easing her Samurai Edge back into its holster. "S-sorry" she stammered, shaking her head ruefully as she and the others stared at the horribly life-like statue of James Marcus before them.

It was a little taller than the sad, crazy old man she remembered meeting back in July, but the facial features themselves were the same: the same harsh facial lines, the same hawk-like nose, the same beady little eyes. It was clear whoever the sculptor had been, he or she had seen Marcus in the flesh.

The Marcus statue stood beside another, this one of a fit looking middle-aged man in a military uniform. He had a short beard and a stern, serious expression.

Both statues flanked a third, this one standing a little taller on a pedestal. This individual was clearly shorter than the others, and Rebecca suspected he suffered from a Napoleonic complex, if the little boost his representation got was any indication. He looked a bit more like Marcus, but was balding, and had a cruel, arrogant set to his face, especially his eyes.

"Miss Chambers, please" Loretta said, aghast. She refused to call Rebecca and Rita anything other than Miss; Rebecca found it more than a little irritating. "There are far more dangerous things loose in the city than our statuary. Honestly! You're scaring the children."

"Sorry about that" Rebecca said again, turning to the old librarian. "Who are these…people?"

Loretta smiled, apparently forgetting she'd been mad less than a minute earlier. "These are the three men responsible for this building" she explained. She pointed to the man on the left, in the military uniform. "That is Arthur Abernathy. His family founded Raccoon City back in the 1860s, just before the Civil War. The man in the middle is Lord Ozwell Spencer, a member of the British aristocracy. And the man on the right is-"

"James Marcus" Rebecca finished. "Yes, I'm…familiar with him. But what do they have to do with this building?"

"Lord Spencer believed in a simple creed" Loretta explained, gesturing toward a plaque beneath his statue. "Knowledge and brilliance are the gift of the heavens to all mankind" she read. "It is the responsibility of the brilliant use their knowledge to its fullest extent. Only through this can man truly attain greatness."

Rebecca listened to Loretta, realizing the creed bore a striking resemblance to the motto Marcus had read over the old UMTC's PA system. _Obedience breeds Discipline. Discipline breeds Unity. Unity breeds Power. And Power is Life._ It was the same sort of elitist drivel Umbrella seemed to enjoy so much. And that meant Spencer must've been somehow connecting to the company. _Great_ Rebecca thought. _Just what I need._

Loretta kept talking about the library and how wonderful its three benefactors were, for some time. Rebecca tuned her out, for the most part, simply studying the building. It was a lot like the library she and Billy had passed through at the Umbrella Management Training Facility back in July, although it didn't feel quite so sinister. She suspected this was the public face Umbrella put on for the world, like that Beatles song about the woman who kept faces in a jar. This place felt all homey and safe, although Rebecca knew that was an illusion. Somewhere, there had to be something monstrous lurking. All her experience with Umbrella screamed it.

Loretta stopped in front of a pair of large, dark oaken doors. "Here you are, ladies" she said. "These doors lead outside."

Rebecca stared at her in shock. "These doors are the entrance? Why aren't they blocked off? Those things could get in-"

Loretta smiled faintly. "Dearie, that door is three inches thick. I highly doubt anyone would be able break through it, especially not with their bare hands. We're safe here. Trust me."

"Well, now that we're up here, I'd better call Harry" said Rita, pulling the small handheld radio off her belt and thumbing it on, causing it to emit a faint buzzing noise. "Harry? Harry, come in. This is Rita. Over."

There was a crackle of static, followed by a voice on the other end of the line. "Rita? Thank God! I thought you were all dead!"

Rita gave him a minute, apparently waiting for an over that never came. "Roger that" she finally said. "Marvin sent us out lookin' for ya. Please tell me you've still got the van. Over."

"Yeah, I'm still here" Harry replied. "I'm parked over on McKnight and Kearney. You want us to head back to the station?"

Again, Rita paused, waiting for Harry to sign off. It was becoming clear he didn't know much about radio etiquette. "No, you need ta stay put. We're gonna come ta you. Over."

"Roger that" Harry replied. "Where are you, and when can we expect you?"

Rita didn't wait this time. "We're at some sort of library. We've got a job to do nearby, and then we'll be on our way to you. Expect us in half an hour to forty-five minutes. And we're gonna have ta come back here. There's a group of civilians here we're gonna have ta take with us. Over."

"How many we talking here?" Harry asked.

Rita turned and did a brief count with her eyes. "I'd say somewhere between fifteen and twenty, give or take. Over."

"Fifteen or twenty?" Harry whistled softly. "I'm not sure they're all gonna fit…"

"It's a bunch of kids" Rita answered coldly, a dangerous edge to her voice. "I hope you're not suggesting we leave them behind."

"N-no ma'am" Harry replied. "I'll-I'll see what I can do."

"Good" Rita said curtly. "Rita out." She turned to Loretta and the kids. "We're gonna go to the power station" she explained. "We gotta reset the generator there, so the fuel pumps at our station will start working again. Then we'll be able to get y'all oughtta here."

Rebecca hadn't heard this part of the plan. She knew they were going into the city for something, but she hadn't realized it was electricity. "I thought we already had power" she said, confused.

"The station runs on a generator when the power goes out" Rita explained. "It keeps the essentials going: the computers, the lights, the cell doors, that sorta thing. But the fuel pumps take a lotta juice, so Chief Irons figured it would be simpler to cut them out of the system. Apparently it never occurred to him the generators need gas to run." She shook her head in disgust. "But that's not important right now." She looked at the kids. "Do y'all think ya can handle waitin' here a little while longer?" There were a lot of wide-eyed nods. Rebecca suspected the children were in awe of the two crazy women who'd climbed out of the floor and were talking about getting them to safety. It was odd for Rebecca to have a kid idolize her (she sometimes suspected her maternal instincts had been surgically removed when she wasn't looking, an odd trait for a nurse); in truth, having anyone look up to her was new.

Rita turned to her. "Ya ready?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah."

Rita smiled, pulling out her handgun. "Good. Then let's go!" Together, they shouldered open the big oaken doors and stepped out into the cold early morning air.

There was a shriek, and a hunter dashed out of the shadows, arms raised as it charged. Rebecca and Rita spun to face it, firing their weapons point-blank into the monster. Then, at the last second, they side-stepped, letting the BOW's momentum carry it into a wall. It slammed into the stonework headfirst, then collapsed backward and didn't move.

Rita was breathing hard, eyes wide as she looked from the dead monster to Rebecca. "What. Was. That?" she asked.

"A monster" Rebecca replied, turning to Loretta, who stood at the door, eyes wide, the children arrayed behind her. "Stay here, and lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone but us, okay?"

Loretta nodded slowly, then turned to the others. "Alright, kids, let's get inside. It won't be much longer." With a final dull groan, the doors swung closed. There was a clang a second later as a bar was slide into place over it, and the two police were now locked outside.

"Well, I guess that's it, then" Rebecca said.

Rita nodded. "Yeah. Let's get a move on."

There were a few zombies on the street, wondering around, lost and dazed. Rebecca and Rita moved quietly, not wasting ammo on the solo walkers. Shooting would only make noise, noise would attract more, leading to more shooting, leading to more infected: it was a vicious cycle neither of them was especially interested in starting.

The power station was only about a block and a half away, and they managed to reach it without incident. Better still, while the compound was fenced in, the rusted gate hung partially open, and it was easy enough to slip inside. Rebecca knew the open door was going to be trouble, since an infected had almost certainly found its way inside, but that was a problem not immediately needing dealt with.

The two women hurried inside, then swung the gate closed behind them. A few zombies looked up, dazed, mouths hanging slackly open, then went back to whatever it was infected people did when they were bored. So far, it seemed to Rebecca they just stood around and moaned a the world. It got old pretty fast.

"This way" Rita said quietly, motioning for Rebecca to follow her down a hallway. As she did so, Rebecca noticed a thin trail of blood, leading toward the only building within the fence. Wonderful.

The door to the power station was hanging partially open, and unsurprisingly, there were still lights on inside. They entered quickly, weapons at the ready, but there was no need.

There were three bodies in the room, their blood painting the walls a sick red color. Two were close together; Rebecca could see obvious bite marks on their bodies. One was a city worker, the other a civilian, a random citizen at the wrong place and wrong time. The third wore a set of green combat fatigues, just like Carlos Oliveira and the other Umbrella mercenaries. He was also missing his head, a shotgun clutched tightly in his fists, the barrel still propped up against his nonexistent chin.

Rita pointed to a control panel. "That's it" she said triumphantly. "This is what we came here for." She pushed a button on the console, and a big, boxy machine in the center of the room began to churn.

"How long will this take?" Rebecca asked, peeking out the still open door. A few zombies had turned to look at the power station when the machine started up, but didn't really seem interested…yet. She had no idea when that would change, though, so she reached down and, as gently as possible, pried the shotgun away from the dead mercenary. She hadn't known him, but Carlos and his men had saved her life, and the Umbrella soldiers Mat had met had done the same for him. She owed his service a lot.

She checked the shotgun's magazine. It was a Remington, a Model 870, which normally had an eight-shell magazine. Three were missing, but she found a box of them in his pockets, along with a snub-nosed .357 Colt magnum revolver…and a very creased photograph, folded up and stuffed into the man's breast pocket. Rebecca carefully unfolded it, revealing a pair of little girls. There was writing on the back.

Peggy and Grace

Easter, 1997

_Below it was a smaller, messier script:_

_Miss you, daddy! Hope you're having lots of fun in Nicaragua!_

_Oh…no_ Rebecca thought. _This guy had…oh God…_

"What is it?" Rita asked.

Rebecca shook her head. "Nothing. Just…nothing." _When I get out of here_, she vowed, _Umbrella's going down_.

(ALYSSA)

The whir of the pumps in the garage outside made all five of them jump.

Dawson realized what it was at once. "She did it!" he exclaimed. "She fixed the fuel lines. We can get out of here now." He turned to Ben, reaching for the cell door. "C'mon, it's time to go-"

"Forget _that_" Ben replied, shaking his head. "If what you're saying is true and the T-virus _is_ out, then I'm staying right here. It's too dangerous out on the streets. You said so yourself."

"Damn it Ben!" Alyssa snapped. "Don't tell me your balls have fallen off _now_! This is our chance to get out of here."

Dawson nodded. "Yeah. If you don't come with us now, who knows when you'll get another chance?"

But Ben wouldn't be dissuaded. "No, I've made my choice. I'm staying here. Maybe, once this all blows over, you can come back for me. Until then, I'm staying _right here_. If I die, the truth dies with me. This way, if anything happens to you," he looked at Alyssa, "there will still be other people who can get the word out."

Alyssa didn't know about anything happening to her, but she was very close to making something happen to Ben. Then she felt a hand on her arm, and looked over to see Yoko gripping it. "Please" she said in her usually quiet voice. "We need to go."

Alyssa sent a last dirty look at Ben, then turned to the others. "Fine. If he wants to stay here, let him rot."  
>Dawson pulled out the cell key and tossed it to Ben. "Here, take this. If you decide to change your mind, you at least won't be locked in here."<p>

Ben nodded. "Thanks Mat, but I suspect this is the safest place in Raccoon City." He picked up the key, then settled back down on the bunk. "Good luck out there. You're gonna need it."

(KEVIN)

The infected were everywhere. It was like someone had wrung the dinner bell, and now they were all coming in for…Kevin glanced down at his watch. 4:30. _Breakfast. Shit. We've been at this all night._

They had retreated to the perimeter directly around the main door to the HQ. Zombies milled around on the courtyard and the strange tunnel which ran beside it. Several more pounded on the main gate. Kevin had no idea how the first ones had managed to get over the fence, but a few more climbers had since repeated the trick. For every zombie he and the others killed, it seemed like half a dozen more were just waiting to step in.

The slide locked back on Kevin's .45, and he ejected the spent magazine, patting his right leg down with one hand as he searched for more, cursing for the hundredth time this morning the fact that he hadn't opted for the high capacity M1911. The weapon had twice the magazine size, but suffered from a much wider grip as a result. Kevin hadn't been impressed with the weapon's handling, since shooting the extended Colt was akin to trying to hold an extremely angry, extremely fat chinchilla…as opposed to the normal model, which was similar to clutching an average sized one.

But seven rounds just weren't enough for him, he was learning quickly. As tightly packed as the monsters were, his magazine kept running dry at the most inconvenient times. David had bailed him out twice, casually firing the tiny .44 one-handed, as if it was nothing.

The others were handling themselves pretty well. The two Umbrella soldiers, Karl and Dustin, were firing their shoulder arms on semi-automatic, the two H&K weapons giving short, sharp barks with each shot. David kept firing his damn magnum like it was a .22, while even Jim was making a decent accounting of himself. He'd only managed to actually put down two of the infected, but he'd shot others in the kneecap, allowing the others to take their time finishing them off.

There was a crash from behind Kevin as the big door swung open. He and David spun around, weapons at the ready, only to find Chase Mathison and the guy claiming to be a former Marine standing there.

"Jesus" Chase muttered. "They're everywhere!" He turned to Kevin. "We just heard from Rita. She's on her way back, but we've got to get these doors open."

"Sure thing, boss" said David irritably. "Just as soon as we clear all these fuckers oughtta here, I'll be happy to oblige." He fired at a zombie with the Smith and Wesson, the flicked the cylinder out, shook out the empty shells, and loaded in six more.

Chase unslung his rifle, clicking a round into the chamber. "Okay. We'll stay here and help you out." The Marine nodded, pulling a bizarre looking Colt out of his waistband and clicking off the safety.

With seven people, they gradually managed to turn the tide. Chase, Dustin, and Karl provided cover fire from the top steps of the station while the others got up close and personal.

At last, the flow infected slowed down. David kicked a former postal worker in the back of the leg, used his foot to shove him to the ground, then smashed the man's brains out with his boot.

Chase nimbly jumped down from the steps, slinging his M14 over his shoulder as he walked. "Hurry" he said, his boots clicking on the cobblestones. "Let's get this door open."

He and Kevin took positions on opposite sides and shoved. With a groan, the huge iron gate swung outward, opening onto the street behind. Kevin got a good look at what Raccoon City had become since he'd arrived at the station, and what he saw…wasn't pretty.

The buildings across the street from the precinct were covered in soot and blood. Crimson handprints dotted the walls, and just about every window had been broken. It looked twenty times worse than any riot he'd seen. The infected must've come stumbling out of every nook and cranny, wherever they'd come to rest, in their rush to get to the station. That explained why everything looked worse now.

A zombie lunged at Kevin, mouth open wide, a few teeth missing, the rest stained black. It was close enough he could smell the stench of decay on its breath, see the pieces of…people it had lodged in its teeth. It grabbed Kevin by the shoulders, raised its head back to take a bite…and then went limp, its skull shattered by a single shot.

Kevin kicked the monster away from him, then turned to see the Marine, a smoking handgun held to the side, like he was in a shooting competition. "Thanks" he said weakly. _Damn, that was close_.

"Not a problem" the Marine replied, with a shrug.

Chase pulled a radio off his belt and held it close to his mouth. "The gate's open. Get a move on. I don't know how long we'll be able to keep it that way. Chase out." He replaced it, then turned to the others. "Well, gentlemen, we're almost there. Just a little farther, and we'll be out of this nightmare."

Kevin nodded slowly. He found he liked the sound of that.

(DAVID FORD)

He could hear their moans behind him as they followed him down the narrow hallway. He turned and fired the Mossberg from the hip, knocking the things back, but not actually killing them. _Damn, why don't they die?_

David Ford was sober, which he was finding probably wasn't the best way to meet the zombie apocalypse. He couldn't help it, though: the sight of three men squatting beside the eviscerated corpse of a woman was enough to drive the alcohol out of his system.

He hadn't known the lady; she was one of the survivors they'd taken in, that was all he knew. But he _did_ know that was a terrible way to die. And then the woman had looked over at him, while the undead tore her intestines out, and their eyes had met.

_Please_ she mouthed, and that was when he realized she was still alive.

He let out a scream and ran the other way, but his voice attracted the attention of the infected, who began to shuffle after him. They were faster than the others, the undead he'd encountered on the street. He suspected it was because they'd just eaten.

A door swung open and a head poked out. "Ford? What are you doing out here?" an officer asked. He didn't have time to see who it was, though. He kept running. A second later he heard the other man scream as the infected found him…and began to feed. He didn't stop.

He didn't stop running, in fact, until he ran into Marvin Branagh, coming out of the watch room, his Beretta in one hand. "Ford?" he exclaimed, looking up. "What the hell are you-shit!"

He turned, raised his handgun, and shot at the nearest zombie, putting a round into the man's shoulder. The zombie twisted under the impact, but kept coming. Worse, the others who were still devouring the cop down the hall looked up…and began to shamble toward them.

Branagh corrected his aim and shot the dead man in the head, putting him down again. But more and more infected were rounding the corner, and Ford knew the other cop wasn't going to have enough ammo to kill them all.

He tried, though. Marvin Branagh kept firing even as the zombies closed in around him. He shot those at a distance, and punched two in the face, causing them to stagger back.

"God _damn it_ Ford! Fire your weapon!" he snapped, cold fury on his face. Then a zombie clamped its teeth down on his shoulder, and he shrieked in pain.

David Ford huddled in the corner, watching as the fighting ended. He wondered idly why his courage had suddenly deserted him. Then, when the cop at the end of the hallway rose up and began to shuffle toward him, he put all such thoughts out of his head. It didn't matter anymore, anyway.

Then something else shifted out from under the huge pile of corpses in the center of the room. Dazed and bleeding from at least a dozen wounds, Marvin Branagh leveled his handgun at the undead cop and pulled the trigger. "I'm sorry" he said quietly, shaking his head…then turning toward David.

"You son of a bitch" he bit out through clenched teeth. "You stupid, cowardly, son of a bitch!" Then he aimed the Beretta, and pulled the trigger. David saw a flash of light…then nothing more.

(MAT)

The big metal grate began its agonizing climb into the ceiling. Mat and Dean readied their weapons, but it didn't look like any infected had wandered down the ramp. It was clear…for now.

"Great" said Rita, gesturing to two other mechanics. "Let's get these things going, while we've still got a corridor.

It didn't take long to fuel up the RPD vans. Rita acknowledged they were gas guzzlers, though; even with both tanks completely topped off, the drive from the precinct to the Arklay Lookout was still probably going to be a one way trip. Still, it was their only option; they didn't know how bad the streets would be, but trying to drive out of Raccoon City would almost certainly end up with them stranded somewhere in town, and that was no one's idea of a good time.

"We'll get the trucks fueled up, then load everybody in upstairs" Rita was explaining. "I don't want a bottle neck of folks trying to get down here. It'll be easier if we line everybody up on the street and do it that way."

Mat listened with only half an ear. The rest of his concentration was focused…elsewhere. Rebecca had made it back, for which he was eternally grateful. But he hadn't seen her, and that meant he hadn't had time to address the seven-thousand pound elephant in the room. It was going to be messy, no two ways about…

Mat looked over at Dean when the other man tapped his shoulder.

"What's the deal, brother?" he asked.

"I was just…thinking" Mat replied.

Dean snorted. "Yknow, that can be pretty dangerous." He paused, fiddling with his shotgun a little. "Well, things look pretty quite here. Why don't you go find someplace quiet to, uh, think?"

Mat blinked at him in confusion. "Seriously? You sure you don't need me down here?"

"Buddy, I think I can handle watching a bunch of trucks sit around on an empty lot just fine on my own" Dean replied. He made a shooing motion. "Go ahead. It'll be fine."

Mat nodded. "Thanks." Then he turned and made his way back upstairs.

It didn't take him long to find someone who could help him. Soon enough, he spotted the blonde woman, the waitress, running around with an armful of towels.

"Hey, wait!" he shouted, briefly scanning his memory for a name. "Uh…Cindy, right?"

She paused, nodding slowly, looking a little confused. "Yeah, that's right. What can I do for you, officer?"

"My friend Rebecca, has she come back to the infirmary yet?"

Cindy thought for a moment. "You know, I think I may have seen her when I was on my way out." She patted the towels in her arms. "George wants these. They'll make pretty good bandages, and he wants to change everyone's out before we move the patients."

"Makes sense" said Mat, slinging his P90. "Want some help?"

Cindy shook her head. "No, I've got these. But we might need some assistance upstairs?"

Mat started to nod, only to be cut off by a burst of automatic weapons fire. "What the hell?"

Cindy's eyes went wide. "That came from the infirmary" she said, her face going white.

Mat clicked the fire selector switch on his SMG from safety to semi-automatic. "C'mon" he said. "Let's go."

He hurried down the corridor, and almost slipped in a puddle of blood spreading around the body of a police officer. He heard Cindy gasp, and was close to loosing his lunch himself. He'd seen bodies messily devoured before, but this was among the most brutally killed people he'd ever seen. It almost looked as if the man's head had been twisted off…

"C'mon" he said, motion for Cindy to follow him. He led her past the briefing room where he'd first learned of the STARS mission back in July, past the dark room where Guthrie had murdered Heather, and up a flight of stairs. He could hear Cindy keeping pace with him, even in her high heels, and was impressed.

They rounded a corner and hurried past a trio of statues, down the hallway where the STARS office was located. Through the door to that hallway, they found a massacre.

A single Umbrella mercenary stood, shoulders heaving, smoke still billowing from the barrel of his AK-74, a wild expression on his face and in his eyes. He jerked the weapon at Mat and Cindy, only to have Mat's P90 return the favor.

"Sorry, officer" the man said, lowering his assault rifle. "Just thought you were…never can be too careful." He looked around at the bloody remains up and down the long wooden hallway, as if the whole scene was some sort of cautionary tale.

"What happened here?" Cindy asked, eyes still wide as she tried to take in the sight.

"I-I dunno" the soldier stammered, eyes darting around frantically. "I heard something, so I came up here, but there was this thing, and it-"

The soldier cut off suddenly as a long, pink-colored appendage smashed through a boarded-window and wrapped itself around his throat. He had enough time to let out a horrified scream, before the thing ripped him, kicking and struggling, through the window. Mat hurried over, weapon up, clicking the fire selector to full-auto, but he couldn't see anything.

"Damn" he muttered softly. Then he heard it: a soft, raspy breathing, coming from the other side of the boards. There was _something_ there. Something familiar.

"Cindy?" he asked quietly, stepping away from the wall.

"What is it?" he replied, sounding terrified.

"Run" he said quietly, then repeated himself a little louder. "Run now!"

He heard Cindy make a break for it, just as the wall in front of him exploded.

(REBECCA)

They were slowly packing the patients up when Cindy burst into the room, eyes wide.

"What's going on?" Rebecca asked. She'd heard the gunfire earlier, and a pair of police (a female officer named Danvers and the one who resembled Tom Cruise) had shown up to reinforce the cops at the infirmary. Since that currently consisted of Rebecca and…Rebecca, she was grateful for the help.

The fire had slackened off, and after a few tense moments George had directed them to start helping gather up patients for transport to the Arklay Lookout. It seemed like a good idea to get out of the station now, while they still could…

"There's something out there!" Cindy exclaimed, hurrying away from the door. Just then, someone opened fire with an automatic weapon, the bark of the submachine gun sounding familiar.

"Mat!" Rebecca shouted, heading for the door. Tom Cruise (she thought his name might've been Kevin) made a grab for her, but missed.

"Damn it!" he shouted, "Come back here!"

Rebecca ignored him, heading for the door, only to have it suddenly ripped from its hinges as a huge, reddish pink mass shot through into the room, landing on the floor a few feet in front of her.

"Holy shit!" Danvers shouted, while Kevin screamed at her to move, beckoning wildly with one hand.

Rebecca brought up her handgun and fired, shooting the creature twice in the head, her bullets striking its hideous exposed brain. The creature staggered backward but didn't go down, opening its wide, needle-lined mouth and hissing at her. Another of the obscene, hideously naked monsters clambered around the corner, its hands and feet adhered to the wall like suction cups.

Kevin opened fire with his .45, his heavier bullets slamming into the new monster's back. It hissed and squirmed but didn't go down. Worse, two more monsters scuttled into the room after it. Now there were four of the headshot-immune monsters inside the already cramped infirmary. _This is gonna be a bloodbath_ she realized.

One monster lunged at Danvers, who dove out of the way, rolling over and firing her handgun as the creature leapt past. But the monster had simply been trying to fake her out. It landed among the patients behind her, slashing wildly with its wicked claws. Blood flowed freely, and people screamed in terror.

Kevin was still shooting at the monster on the wall. It opened its mouth and a huge, spear-like tongue shot out. Kevin dodged to the side, but the monster cracked its tongue like a whip, sending him sprawling, his .45 sliding across the smooth wooden floor.

Rebecca felt something wrap around her leg. She looked down in horror to see the first monster had wrapped its tongue around her leg. "Oh-" she began, only to have the monster yank her off her feet, dragging her toward it.

The monster loomed over her. Rebecca brought up her Samurai Edge, trying to fire into its brain, but it knocked away the handgun, before placing its left claw on her shoulder, like it was confiding in her. It shoved her down, while raising its right claw over its head. It hissed loudly, splaying its huge talons, then putting them together, like a gigantic spade. This it angled down, ready to ram into Rebecca's chest.

Then the monster's head jerked back, a bullet striking it between where its eyes ought to have been. The monster's body reared up, and Rebecca got a look at the huge, muscular growth on its chest. _A heart_ she realized. _Just like Tyrant._

Then a second bullet struck the monster's heart and it exploded, spraying blood in all directions. Rebecca shut her eyes and looked away, but felt the hot liquid splash across her face anyway. Then the monster slipped off her, landing with a thud on the ground beside her.

"C'mon, up and at 'em" Mat said, offering her a hand. His other was wrapped around Captain Enrico's .45. His P90 was slung across his back, and he looked anxious. "Hurry, before more of those things show up."

"Thanks" she said, letting him help her up, then looking around.

Kevin had a nasty slash across his arm and leg. He was leaning on George. Cindy stood nearby, awkwardly holding his .45 like she was afraid it'd bite her. Danvers was on her feet as well. She spotted Rebecca's handgun and kicked it to her.

"Thanks" she said, collecting the weapon and stuffing it in her holster. Then she looked around. It was just as bad as she'd thought it'd be.

The monsters had blown past the police, then set into the primarily helpless patients. The floor was slick with blood, some of bright and arterial, and covered in eviscerated bodies. A few patients, those who could move on their own, or who'd been at the back of the room, were still alive. The two civilians who'd been helping out, a nurse named Linda and another woman whose name she'd never learned, were both dead as well. She looked away.

Mat studied her face for a minute. "I'm sorry" he said. "We've gotta go."

She nodded. "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

(RITA)

They'd loaded most of the vans already. It just came down to the one Harry had driven up. Rita was glad things had worked out. It was getting a little hairy out there.

The one remaining truck Carlos Oliveira had brought was on rear guard duty, idling just outside the precinct's gates. The corporal himself sat in the passenger's seat, the man named Yuri at the wheel. A third mercenary, a big Samoan man whose name she didn't know, manned the gun. Two more soldiers sat on the tailgate, weapons in their laps. One smoked a cigarette, a cheap, nasty French brand. Its acrid smoke blended with the already pungent odor of Raccoon City, creating a cocktail she could only barely tolerate.

Harry sat in the driver's seat of his van, fidgeting, his hands drumming the wheel. He kept nervously glancing over his shoulder at her. "Can't we go _now_?" he whined, his face pale, eyes wide.

Rita ignored him. He was getting on her absolute last nerve, with all his constant complaining. It was getting old.

She wished there was someone out her for her to talk to. Rebecca had already climbed into the van with Loretta and the kids from the library, plus a few other survivors. It was second in the convoy, parked down almost at the end of the street, engine idling like all the others.

They were waiting on three cops: Kevin, Chase Mathison, and Mat Dawson. Mat was convinced there was still a survivor, a little girl, somewhere in the station. He refused to leave until they'd searched for her. Rita could appreciate the sentiment, but while she had no desire to leave _anyone_ behind, especially a kid, it seemed penny wise and dollar stupid to put everyone at risk.

Of course, Marvin was still in the station too. Chase had told her he'd go track down the other man and tell him to come on. Rita was worried about her friend. He'd sunk into a depression since she and Rebecca had made their plans to fix the fuel lines, and no one had seen him since. She hoped he was okay.

The station doors were open, meaning one minute Rita could see into the main hall, and the next her view was dominated by Chase, jogging toward the van, M14 unslung and in his hands.

"Did you find her?" she called out.

Chase shook his head.

"Shit."

Kevin and Mat came around next, Mat shaking his head. "I don't know where she could've gotten to. We went all over the place, yelling her name, but never found her. Wherever she is, I hope that poor kid's safe."

"What about Marvin?" she asked.

Kevin shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sorry. We found David Ford and a bunch of dead zombies. It looked like someone had been fighting. But…there was a _lot_ of blood." He shook his head and climbed into the truck behind Mat.

Rita sank to the floor of the van, disbelief weighing on her shoulders. _Marvin…_ She'd met him when she'd first lived here, but they'd kept in touch when she moved out East. He'd helped her get a job at the RPD, looked out for her during training, and now…

There was someone staggering toward the door. Someone in an RPD uniform. Rita's head jerked up. "Marvin!" she shouted. "You're alive!"

But something was wrong. His uniform was all bloody and he was clearly limping. He was injured and breathing heavily.

"Go!" he shouted, leaning against the door, waving frantically at them with one hand. "Go on, get out of here!"

"Shit" said Chase, turning to Harry. "Go on, move it!"

"Marvin!" Rita started to jump out of the van as it began to roll forward.

Kevin grabbed her from behind, pulling her back inside. "No" he said quietly. "Rita…I'm so sorry."

"Marvin…" she said again, watching as he slowly dwindled away.

Kevin looked over at Mat. "How long does he have?"

Mat shook his head, his eyes not leaving the retreating figure of the RPD Captain. "I don't know. If he's strong? A few hours, maybe a day if he's lucky."

"Nothing can be done?"

Mat shook his head, then sat down on the bench and stared down at the armored deck plates.

Eventually, Kevin managed to coax Rita into onto the bench as well. He smiled, trying to put the best face on things. "Don't worry about Marvin. He's tough, and he's straight to the job. Besides, that Kennedy guy's supposed to be coming in tomorrow, right? Marvin's supposed to be over seeing his training. He's not the kind of man to leave a job unfinished, is he?"

Rita shook her head. "No, he's n-"

Suddenly there was a loud bang from somewhere ahead, followed by a humongous crash. The van swerved and Chase, who'd been recharging an M14 mag, swore ass 7.62mm bullets flew in all directions.

"What the fuck?" he demanded, glaring at Harry. "Where the hell'd you learn to drive?"

"Hang on!" he shouted back, twisting to avoid something huge looming ahead. Rita's eyes went wide as she caught a glimpse of a burning police van, then everything was topsy-turvy. The van flipped, the floor became the ceiling, and Rita saw it rising up to meet her…

**Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter. I really appreciate it. Anyway, you all know the drill by now. Please drop me another review, if you have the time. Thanks for reading, and happy Easter!**

**-Godzillafan93**


	38. Ambush

Chapter 35: Ambush

(MAT)

Mat came to with a massive headache. It felt like it was burning, especially his temples, which was a nice contrast to the rest of his body, which just felt numb, except for a strange digging sensation at his arms and waist. His hair was hanging free of his forehead for a change, and Mat realized just how long it was. _First thing to do: get a haircut_ was his first cohesive thought upon regaining consciousness.

Mat groaned slowly, like a falling tree. A thin trail of bloody saliva ran down from his mouth, and he realized he must've bitten the inside of his check during the crash. He probed with his tongue and found a hotter, wetter place. _Perfect_.

Then what had happened finally sank in, and Mat's eyes snapped open. He was hanging suspended from the van's bench, the seatbelt and straps the only things keeping him in place. He wondered if he was lucky to have strapped in, then decided he was when he looked down at saw Rita and Kevin, tangled up together on the floor. They were both unconscious, maybe dead, Rita with a large gash on her forehead, Kevin with a thinner trail of blood. Mat realized that was from him, and reached up to wipe his mouth, then set about undoing his waist strap.

It occurred to him just as the strap was undone that this wasn't a really wise idea, but by then it was too late, and he dropped down on top of Kevin and Rita, making the cramped tangle even worse.

"Wha-?" Kevin muttered groggily while Rita groaned.

"Sorry guys" said Mat, pushing himself up and accidently stepping on Rita's hand. "Sorry" he said again, when she let out a rather sleepy yelp.

"What…what happened?" Kevin asked, sitting up and shaking his head. Amazingly he didn't look any more than bruised. Rita had that gash, though, and Mat was worried. Rebecca would have to take a look at it…

"Rebecca!" he realized, standing up…and banging his head on the floor of the van.

"Take it easy, man" said Kevin. "Calm down. We've gotta get ourselves sorted out before we can help anybody else."

A groan from up above made them all look up at the fourth member of their compartment. Chase was strapped in too, one handed still clutching his M14. His face was bruised and there was a long, slender break in his skin from his rifle's sights, but he looked alive.

"Let's get him down, before the blood rushes to his head" said Kevin, standing up. Mat followed him, and together they managed to work Chase free, easing him down to the floor. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes.

"What's goin' on?"

"We crashed" said Mat. "It looks like we flipped over, but we're all okay."

"I'm afraid not" said Kevin, standing by the driver's compartment. "You guys better take a look at this."

Mat and Rita stumbled toward him, peering over his shoulder. As soon as Rita caught sight of it, she gasped, a hand covering her mouth.

The van had fetched up against a concrete barrier, like the sort used on highways. Although durable, the vehicles weren't invincible, and this barrier had managed to hit it just right to drive the steering column up into the cabin…and through Harry's chest.

Harry's eyes were wide open, his face blank. His blood dripped down on the floor, his hands still clutching the wheel. Already his body was turning pale.

"Well," said Kevin, "at least it was quick."

"Damn it" muttered Chase. "Now the van's a total write-off."

"That's all you have to say?" Rita demanded, whirling to face him. "A man's dead, and all you care about's the stupid van?"

"It's unfortunate about Harry, but his troubles are over" Chase replied. "That's not true for the rest of us. We're still stuck here, and now it looks like we'll all have to walk out of this nightmare."

"That's not necessarily true" Kevin said. "Maybe we can hitch a ride on one of the other vans-oh shit!" And suddenly he remembered what had led to the crash.

Mat and Kevin kicked the van doors open, then jumped out, weapons up and ready, scanning for signs of danger. Rita and Chase stumbled out a second later, their own guns up.

"There!" shouted Rita, pointing behind them, toward the burning van. Its front had been blasted open by _something_. It looked almost like military-grade explosives; Mat knew the vans were durable, but whatever had hit it had opened it up like a can of peaches.

A figure was moving around on the other side. Mat brought his P90. "Identify!" he shouted.

"You first!" the voice shouted back, leveling a SPAS-12.

"Dean!" Mat shouted, lowering his SMG. "Sorry about that."

"Me too." Dean brought the shotgun down, hugged close to his chest. "What happened? We swerved off the road and hit a building. Impact knocked us out a few seconds."

"Same here" said Chase. "We rolled, and our driver didn't make it."

Rita was studying the burning van. "Do you think anybody survived that?"

Kevin moved around to the back. "God, I hope not. The doors have melted shut. Anybody who lived through the crash burned to death."

"Damn" growled Chase. "Who did this? I'll rip the fucker's throat out, I swear!"

"Let's go check the other vans" said Kevin. "Surely somebody else made it."

A few other officers and some civilians had made it out in Dean's van. They were all in one piece, minus a few cuts and bruises.

"Hey doc, we're gonna need you" Kevin shouted to George, waving he and Cindy over.

"You folks okay?" Chase called out.

Karen Danvers, one of the officers who'd been stationed in the infirmary, nodded, then winced. "Yeah, but man, my head is _pounding_."

"Not the worst crash I've ever survived" said Coen, brushing himself off. _Guy's like a damn cockroach_ Mat thought irritably.

"Where are the Umbrella guys?" he asked, looking around. "I don't see their truck."

"Maybe they heard the explosion and stopped?" Rita offered. "Like they thought they were under attack or something?"

"Or something" Coen said darkly. But no, the likelihood of the Umbrella mercenaries attacking were pretty slim. Mat had fought beside them in the Hive, and this group had saved Rebecca and the girl they'd saved at the school…

"Shit!" he muttered. He'd totally forgotten about Elizabeth Warren in all the confusion. He'd gone back to look for Sherry, but not her. _Well, she's with Irons_ he consoled himself. They hadn't managed to find the RPD Chief, either. _Maybe she'll be safe with him…_

Mat jogged over to the second van, where the others had congregated. When he saw, Mat's heart did a nose dive into his stomach.

The van had flipped onto its side, one wheel spinning in the air. That meant the crash hadn't happened all that long ago, so the likelihood of there still being survivors was pretty good.

Nearby, a fire extinguisher spurted water on the third van. Its front tires had popped, and it had driven off the road, hitting the extinguisher on the way. Kevin and a big black man named Mark jogged over to assist them. Mat saw Chase step back, taking in the entire scene, like he was thinking. He was studying the rooftops, eyes scanning the upper floors of the surrounding brownstones like he was looking for something.

Mat bent down, prying at the handles on the van's doors, trying to unjam them. They'd been smashed together, rendering the compartment temporarily inaccessible. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Coen jogging over.

"Let me give you a hand with that" he offered, kneeling down next to Mat.

Mat didn't say anything. He just went back to work. Between he and the former Marine, they managed to slowly force the door open. Mat and Coen let out identical curses when something flopped out…then again when they realized who it was.

"Rebecca!" Mat exclaimed. "Can you hear me?"

Rebecca groaned slightly, her eyes opening a little. "What's with all the _yelling_?" she muttered, groggily. She started to raise her arm to shield her eyes, then winced.

"Her shoulder's out" said Coen, pointing to the dislocated limb. "We've got to set it."

Mat nodded, reaching for her shoulder, but Rebecca winced when he touched it. "Don't" she said faintly. "Hurts."

"I know" he replied. "It's gonna hurt, but it'll make you better. Okay?"

She nodded weakly, still not with it. Her face was streaked with blood, but it didn't look like it was hers. Slowly her eyes opened. "Mat? Billy?" she said, her voice getting stronger. "What happened?"

"There was an accident" Mat said.

"That was no accident" Coen replied. He pointed to the burning van. "That was a mine. And where are our Umbrella friends? They had something to do with this, you mark my words."

Mat rolled his eyes, then turned back to Rebecca. "You know what I have to do, right?"

She nodded. "On my three."

"Okay. Ready?"

"One."

Mat reached down and put his hands on Rebecca's shoulder, the bones feeling…wrong in his hands.

She winced again when he touched her. "Two-"

BLAM!

Mat's hands jerked and Rebecca let out a pained scream.

"Sorry" Mat told Rebecca, then shifted his attention toward the source of the noise. "What the hell, man?"

Dean lowered his smoking shotgun. "Zombie" he said sheepishly. "He, uh, won't be messing with us again." He pointed to a headless body lying in the street, as if afraid they wouldn't believe him.

Coen shook his head, lowering his Colt. "Dumbass" he muttered.

"You okay?" Mat asked Rebecca.

She nodded. "Yeah. How about you? You look terrible."

Mat didn't doubt it. "You're not too great yourself."

"If you two are done here, maybe we can help the other people in there?" Coen said, irritably.

"Right" said Mat, standing up, then helping Rebecca. Once she was out of the way, he knelt back down, unclipped his flashlight, and shined it into the compartment. "Hello? Anybody awake in there?"

There was a collection of sleepy groans from inside, mostly from about fifteen elementary school-age children. He turned and sent a confused look at Rebecca. "Where'd _they_ come from?"

"The Spencer Library" said an authoritative voice from inside. "Now, officer, if you'd be so kind to put out that blasted light and step aside, maybe we'd be able to get out."

Mat moved out of the way, then watched as one by one, over a dozen kids filled out of the van, followed by Maddie and an older woman dressed all in grey, holding an old Winchester double-barreled shotgun.

"Loretta, you're okay?" Rebecca asked, studying the grey woman.

She nodded curtly. "I'm well enough, Miss Chambers." She turned to Mat. "Now, Officer, would you mind explaining to me what's going on?"

"I don't know" he replied honestly, but that didn't do much to mollify the woman, Loretta, who glared at him like she'd just bitten down on an apple and found him inside.

"Well, why not?" she demanded. "You're the police, aren't you? Why don't you-?"

"Look, lady, give the guy a break, will you? He's doing his best here" interrupted Coen.

Mat stared at him in surprise. "You're sticking up for me now?"

Coen looked just as confused. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Even after I hit you?"

Coen waggled a finger at him. "I'll let that slide. _This_ time. But I'll have you know I've whipped whole-sale ass for a lot less than that."

Mat snorted. "Yeah, I can imagine."

Rebecca knelt down and began to help still more people trapped inside the clown car the RPD van had become. Maddie awkwardly stumbled out, then gave Mat the once over.

"I see you've managed to stay alive" she said dryly.

"I see you have, too" Mat replied, deadpan for deadpan. "And I see you've managed to keep my gun with you. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, well-" she began, only to break off when they heard a loud crack.

"Argh!" Dean shouted, dropping on his back, his face contorted in pain.

"Shit!" exclaimed Coen, dropping into a crouch, eyes darting everywhere. "Where'd that come from?"

Mat hunched over and sprinted for Dean, grabbing him by the shoulders and dragging him behind the van. "What happened?" the other man asked through gritted teeth.

"Looks like you managed to get shot" said Coen. "Rebecca! Rebecca, we need you!"

Rebecca emerged from the van, a Remington 870 in her hands, a look of confusion on her face when she saw Dean. "What's going on?" she asked.

Coen grabbed her behind the neck and forced her down. "Watch out, or you'll get your stupid head shot off!"

"Dean got hit" Mat explained. "Leg wound. I don't know where the shot came from."

"Here, let me see" said Rebecca, duck-walking over to him. She hunched over his outstretched leg, probing with her fingers. "Does that hurt?" she asked.

Dean gritted his teeth. "What do _you_ think?"

"It's not too bad" Rebecca reported, her fingers coming away with still more blood on them. Through the open doors, Mat could see a body slumped in the van. He suspected it was that person's blood all over her.

"Easy for you to say" Dean snapped, irritably. "It's not _your_ leg."

"Look" said Rebecca. "Here's the entry, and here's the exit wound. You got shot through and through, and it looks like it missed the bone. Small caliber bullet. Probably a .22 or .223, or something along those lines. We'll just bandage it up, and you'll be fine. A little slow, but that's not too bad."

"A little slow?" Dean repeated. "A little _slow_? In case you haven't noticed, we're in a city full of zombies! You think I want to be just a little slow?"

"Hey, be nice" said Mat absently, looking up. He could hear a noise in the distance, one that was steadily growing closer.

Two men had moved away from the third van and where making their way toward the second van, oblivious to what had just happened.

"You folks need help?" asked a civilian in greasy overalls. Mat thought his name was Kurt.

"Get down, you fucking-" Coen began.

Just then, the Umbrella truck sped around the corner, tires squealing. Carlos Oliveira, Rebecca's mercenary friend, was hanging out the passenger's side door. "Are you people insane?" he shouted. "Get moving!"

The two civilians were less than ten feet away when they both stopped. At first Mat thought they weren't moving because of the shouting Hispanic man, but then he saw a scarlet geyser erupt from Kurt's neck, blood spewing as his jugular was severed. The other man half turned to help him, just as Chase fired his M14 at something on the roof to their left. There was a startled cry of pain from above.

Then the other man spun around, his back to them, his intestines spilling from his newly opened belly. He fell to his knees, just as something rammed itself into the back of his head.

Mat saw a shimmering _something_ behind the dying man, and without thinking jerked up the Colt and fired three shots into it.

There was a gasp, two flashes of blood, and like magic, a man in a strange rippled poncho seemed to materialize out of thin air. He spun, hands in the air, an HK G3 rifle falling from suddenly limp fingers as he collapsed beside the two men he'd just murdered.

_Holy shit_ Mat realized. _I. Just. _Killed_ a man._

He didn't have long to dwell on that development, though. Because before the dead soldier had fallen into the street, the world erupted into madness.

(CHASE)

He watched the sharpshooter on top of the brownstone throw up his hands, a scope-sighted M16 clattering to the street, the body slumping over the edge, blood running down the bricks. Chase shifted his aim, looking for another target, the M14's scope flaring whenever it passed over a burning building in the distance. He'd swapped out for a thermal model before leaving the station; after what Mat had said about roving gangs, it seemed like a good idea to have something useful against the living.

The would-be marksman on the roof had been exceptionally hot (Chase didn't know it, but he was also invisible to the naked eye), so he was looking for any other equally hot bodies, when he heard a handgun open fire a little ways ahead of him. He lowered the rifle to see two civilians on the ground, followed by a man who seemed to appear from _nowhere_. Mat stood there, staring at the smoking Colt in his hands for a minute, as if wondering what had just happened. Unfortunately, nobody was going to have much time for contemplation.

Suddenly bullets began to fly from all directions, short bursts of fire from assault rifles and longer, sustained thunderings from what could only be light machineguns. Chase watched a Homicide cop get torn to shreds, the pavement behind him shattering under repeated impacts. Another officer spun around, his head simply gone, turned to a bloody mist.

"Ambush!" yelled one of the civilians, a big black guy in a security uniform named Mark. He said he was a 'Nam vet, and judging by the way he zigzagged down the street, Chase was willing to believe him.

He heard a whistling sound, then saw something white streak out of one window, slam into a parked car, and blast it and the two people using it for cover to pieces. He brought the M14 to his shoulder, sighted on the window the smoke billowed from, and fired twice. There was a cry from inside, but Chase didn't have time to savor the second kill before someone slammed into, knocking him into the gutter.

"Stay down, sir!" shouted Karen Danvers, one of the few SPF officers still alive. A second later, machinegun fire tore through the street where he'd just been standing.

"Uh…thanks" he said, rising to his knee, bringing the battle rifle up and looking for a new target. He heard Karen open fire with her UMP, a powerful .45 submachine gun a few seconds later, blasting at the windows.

Chase paused a moment to take stock of the situation. He and Karen, along with the doctor and the waitress, were hiding behind a big blue minivan. About a dozen feet away, on the other side of the street, were Earl Givens (a Vice cop), the smelly mechanic, that bitch reporter, and the little Asian girl. They'd taken cover behind a sedan, Earl and David firing handguns blindly into the air, more for suppression than anything else. Further up, Mark, Kevin, Rita, and a couple of other civilians were holding position behind the third van. Mat, Rebecca, the former Marine, and still more civilians, mostly children but for a tough middle-aged woman with a shotgun, were behind the second van. A few other officers were in cover where they could find it, but they were quickly getting bracketed by overlapping fields of fire and being shot to pieces.

_Gotta get us off the street_ Chase realized. This block was the perfect kill box. He needed to get his people moving, before they were all shot down.

He tapped Karen on the shoulder. "On three, I want you to run over to Lincoln" he said, pointing to a redheaded cop firing an M16 from his belly about twenty feet away. "I'll cover you, then you two both cover me, okay?"

Karen gulped visibly, her face pale, eyes wide. Then she nodded. "Got it sir."

"Good" said Chase. "Go, now!"

Karen clutched her German SMG to her chest and dashed madly to Lincoln, diving behind the car he was using for cover, then waving for Chase to follow.

Chase was about to break cover, when he heard a new sound. The Umbrella mercenaries had set up around their white flatbed, allowing their mounted machinegun to open up. The Browning .50 began to tear the buildings around it to shreds.

"Get some!" shouted one of the soldiers, pumping a fist in the air as the big Samoan gunner kept firing, a grim look on his face, his muscles bulging on his naked arms, sweat pouring from his body.

Then a bullet slammed into his stomach, blood splashing out. The man grunted, but kept shooting, spraying fire into the window the shot had come from. But more bullets continued to hail down on him, one striking his left bicep. The man growled, his arm dropping limply to the side, the gun briefly yawing the right. But the big man managed to get it back under control, still keeping the enemy's attention.

Chase looked over to seen Karen and Lincoln arguing, Lincoln pointing down the street, Karen shaking her head and pointing at Chase. "Fine, fuck you then!" the redheaded cop shouted, before breaking cover and tearing down the street. Bullets flew past him, but he ducked and dodged, M16 clutched to his chest, hunkering down, managing to avoid any hits. Chase watched as he sprinted past a wide-eyed Mat, barreling down the road.

He'd almost made it to the corner, when Chase noticed something odd attached to a pair of cars: fist-sized, black metal plates, with a laser running between them. "Oh shit" he muttered, just as Lincoln ran between them…and was blown to bloody pieces in the resulting explosion.

It _was_ an ambush, and now it was clear the streets weren't safe. He'd have to think of something else.

The gunfire from the machinegun suddenly stopped. Chase looked over to see the big man slumped over, slapping at a geyser of blood spraying from his throat. Then he shuddered and slipped into the bed.

"_Chyort_!" shouted one of the soldiers, while Oliveira, the one who'd been directing them, pointed at the turret.

"Someone get on that .50!" he shouted. When no one volunteered, he started to climb into the bed himself. Just then, another RPG slammed into the engine of the truck, blasting it to pieces. Oliveira was thrown backward, slamming into the street. Deprived of cover, the other soldiers scattered, running in all directions…only to have half of them die in seconds, cut down by fire from all sides.

"Shit!" Chase shouted, ducking down as bullets whizzed and snapped over his head. He looked over, to see Karen waving at him to move up. A bullet cracked past her head and she ducked down, hunching small behind the car. A tire popped, air hissing out, the vehicle slumping over. She was about to be exposed, and then these bastards, whoever they were, were going to shoot her, then shoot him.

_Time to live dangerously_ he thought, then sprinted wildly across the street. He heard bullets fly past him, tearing into the building behind him. But he managed to make it without anything worse than some minor cuts form flying shrapnel, so he was willing to call it a win.

"We can't stay here" he told Karen, ejecting the M14's magazine and checking it. Two shots. He shoved it into his pocket and pulled out a fresh one, rocking it into place. "We've gotta link up with the others."

Karen nodded slowly. "Okay, sir." She was shaking, visibly scared. He realized this was probably the first time she'd actually been under fire, and watching Lincoln get blown to pieces probably hadn't helped any.

"It's gonna be okay" he said. "I promise. We're gonna get through this."

"How do you know, sir?"

He smiled briefly, then punched her shoulder lightly. "Look at this jaw, look at your eyes" he said, tapping his chin. "We are just too damn pretty to die. Okay?"

Karen nodded slowly, smiling faintly. "Thanks, sir."

"Okay. We've got to go, now" he said, pointing to the third van, where most of the police had gathered. You first. I'll watch your back, 'kay?"

She nodded, the without another second of hesitation, turned and sprinted forward. Bullets tore past her, but Chase followed the muzzle flashes, putting fire through every window he saw a shooter. Karen reached the van, then turned and motioned for him to follow.

Chase started to follow, only to look behind his back for a minute. He wasn't sure what made him turn around, but he did…and saw the Umbrella mercenary, Oliveira, still stretched out on the street. Except, he wasn't dead, like Chase had originally thought. He was stirring, shaking himself awake, unaware he was in danger.

"Son of a bitch" he muttered to himself, weighing his options. Then, before he had the chance to talk himself out of it, he turned and ran back the way he'd come.

He heard the cops at the third van shouting at him, telling him to come back, but he ignored him, just as he ignored the bullets now flying past his body. He dropped to one knee beside Oliveira, slinging the M14 over his back and kicking the prone man in the side. "Up and at 'em, brother" he shouted. Oliveira groaned a little, starting to prop himself up, but things weren't moving quite fast enough for Chase's liking, so he simply grabbed the smaller man and bodily slung him over his shoulder, like a firefighter, before running back toward the other officers.

He saw bewilderment on Kevin's face, awe on Karen's, and shock on the others as he dropped Oliveira down at their feet, then sat back, leaning against a dead car, ignoring the bullets still freely flying in the street.

"Damn, sir" Kevin said, shaking his head. "Just…_damn_."

"Nothing to it, Detective" Chase replied, shaking his head, catching his breath, amazed he'd managed to not shit his pants on the way. He'd never been so scared in his life.

"What now, sir?" Rita asked.

"We've got to set up good fire positions" he replied. "Get everybody close enough together we can provide support." He called out to Earl over at the opposite end of the street. "C'mon, we'll cover you."

Earl didn't look too thrilled about the prospect. He turned and conferred with David a moment, who cupped a hand over his mouth and shouted "Why don't you come to me?"

"Fuck you!" Kevin shouted back. "Come to us!"

Earl grumbled to himself, then sprinted across the street. He made it about halfway before a bullet found his head, his brain exploding through the side of his skull, his body spinning, dropping to the concrete.

"Shit!" Chase exclaimed.

"Any more bright ideas?" David shouted.

Kevin shook his head. "You know, I really hate that guy."

Then Chase heard something even worse yelled from down the street.

"They're coming!" the marine was shouting, pointing over the side of the van he hid behind. "Tangos. Lots of 'em. And they've got some heavy firepower."

(BILLY) 

"Who _are_ these guys?" Dean asked, clutching his shotgun close to his chest. This was a gunfight with range, meaning he was out of it.

"I dunno" Dawson said, clicking the fire-selector switch on his P90 to full-auto. "Why don't I ask?"

Before Billy could suggest otherwise, Dawson stood up and opened fire with his SMG. He heard a grunt and saw one of the black-clad soldiers go down, the others diving for cover. Then return fire cut through the air, and Dawson was back to crouching with the others.

"Look familiar?" he asked Billy, who nodded.

"Yeah. Just like those Umbrella guys at the station."

"These guys are just as friendly" Dawson replied. "And they're packing serious weaponry. I counted three guys with G36s with drum magazines. You can lay down a lot of hurt with those."

Billy nodded again. The G36, HK's 5.56mm assault rifle, was a nasty piece of work on its own. It had good stability, accuracy, and was almost as versatile as an Ak-47. Add the big, fifty-round drum mag to the weapon, and many people stopped calling it the Gewehr 36 and started calling it the Machine Gun, or MG, 36. That designation was wrong…but not by much.

"What else did you see?"

"Not much" Dawson replied. "Maybe an M249, or one of those Belgian machineguns. I can never tell them apart. Want me to look again?"

"No, you almost got your head taken off last time" Billy replied, surprised Dawson was letting him take the lead.

"What do we do?" Rebecca asked. She was squatting at the back of the van, in front of the kids, who they'd coaxed back inside for safety.

"We can't stay here. We've got to get into one of the buildings. Find some cover and get out of this nightmare."

"Can you fall back?" the sniper cop, Chase, shouted from his position.

Billy shook his head. "Negative. We've got kids here. I don't wanna try to move them."

Billy heard the other man's M14 crack and saw something topple from a window, landing hard on the street. A second later, an honest to God Soviet issue RPD machinegun followed.

"Okay, then we'll come to you" Chase began. "Cover us!"

Billy turned to Dawson. He was finding it harder to think of him as an adversary, despite what they'd been through. Now they'd been under fire together, and that changed their dynamic. He suspected the other man was having a similar change of heart. "Well Mat, you heard the man. Ready to kick some ass?"

Mat nodded. "Sure thing, Lieutenant."

They stood up in unison and opened fire. Billy still only had the M1911, but Mat kept up a pretty good stream with the P90, and he managed to flush an enemy soldier out of cover. The man scrambled back, trying to bring his gun to bear, but Billy shot him twice with his handgun, dropping him to the ground, then shot him twice more when the wounded soldier tried to draw a pistol of his own and crawl away.

He heard gunfire from behind him, and risked a glance over his shoulder. Chase had taken cover behind a car and was shooting at the soldiers ahead of them, but apparently a few other soldiers had flanked them, because Billy could see David and the blonde woman shooting at soldiers converging on them from behind. He saw David empty his Model 29 into two soldiers, flip the magnum over and hurl it at the head of the third, then rush the staggering man, flicking out a switch blade, which he deftly slashed across the dazed soldier's throat. Then he grabbed the quiet girl who'd been hunkering behind the car's arm and dragged her toward the others, not waiting for the blonde, who realized she was on her own a few seconds later and dashed after them, clearly yelling obscenities lost in the gunfire.

Some of the Umbrella mercenaries made their way forward, laying down cover fire. One dropped down behind a car a few feet from where Billy crouched, a strange looking gadget on his arm. He stood up, taking careful aim down some sort of green tinted scope. He must've pulled some kind of internal trigger, because there was a puff from the weapon and a metal dart shot forward, toward a concrete highway divider the other soldiers were using for cover.

Just then, one such soldier stood up to fire his weapon. The mercenary must've aimed a little too high, because the dart didn't hit concrete, but the soldier's leg, just to the right of his groin.

The man looked down in horror at the blinking light at the end of the dart. "Fuck!" he shouted, a second before exploding.

Billy shifted his aim toward the buildings, squeezing off shots at the soldier he knew was there.

He heard a crash and looked over to see Kevin, the cop who was a dead ringer for Tom Cruise, kick open a door, then sweep it clear with his .45. He turned to Rebecca and the kids. "Over here!" he shouted. "Quick!"

"Come along children" said Loretta, the fussy librarian. "Listen to Officer Ryman and let's go." Without a care in the world, she calmly made her way forward. Her calm was apparently infectious, because none of the kids made a sound as they hurried after her.

Suddenly smoke began to fill the far end of the street. "What the hell?" Kevin asked, kneeling between Mat and Billy, ready to help Dean inside. "_Now_ what?"

"Fall back!" he heard a voice shout from one of the buildings. "Withdraw, all Manta units. Mission code NEMESIS is in effect. The Tyrant's on its way. Get the hell out of its way!" Rebecca and Mat's faces went pale.

"Tyrant?" Billy asked. "What's that?"

Billy squinted over the van. He could see something else moving down the street. It was black and powerfully built, and as it got closer, Billy realized it was also huge, at least nine feet tall.

"The fuck is that?" Chase asked, kneeling on one side of the van, poking his rifle out.

"Remember the big naked _thing_ we fought underground?" Rebecca asked. "That was a failed prototype Tyrant. They only get nastier."

"Well, it's coming for a visit" Chase said grimly. "How do we kill this son of a bitch?"

"Well, Chris took down the last one we saw with a rocket launcher" Mat offered.

"A _rocket_?" Chase echoed. "Jesus! Any more…practical ideas?"  
>"The last one had a big heart" Rebecca suggested. "Maybe try shooting for that?"<p>

"Here goes" he said, standing up and taking a few shots at the monster slowly stomping toward them. Billy watched bullets strike the monster's outer covering, a big, thick, oily looking trench coat. He saw puffs appear on the fabric, but no other signs of damage. Not even two shots to the face slowed the thing down.

Then the monster growled and leveled its own weapon. Billy felt his blood run cold as he recognized it: a GAU something or other, a high powered minigun like what was mounted on the A-10 Warthog. Slowly, horribly, the weapon's barrels began to spin.

"Son of a bitch!" Chase shouted, throwing himself flat. The others did likewise as huge, armor piercing bullets tore through the armored car. The thing let out a bellow of rage, advancing under its own little umbrella of suppressive fire.

"We gotta take that thing out" Chase was saying.

"I have an idea" Billy replied. Without waiting for a response, he turned and ran toward the third van, the one he'd been in when everything went to hell. He dashed among the Umbrella mercenaries. One tried to grab for him, but was blown to pieces by the monster's minigun.

Billy ran past David and the two women. "The fuck are you going?" the mechanic shouted after him, but Billy ignored his voice. He had one goal, and he was so close to reaching it.

Then he heard massive footsteps behind him, and realized he wasn't going to make it. He turned just in time to see the monster looming over him. In that brief moment, he caught a glimpse of just how hideous the thing was. It was facially disfigured, even more so than the previous Tyrant he and Rebecca had fought. In addition to its lips, some kind soul had also removed its ears and one eye. A series of huge, industrial, Frankenstein-esque staples ran along a big cut where its right eye ought to have been. Huge chords of _something_ stood out on its sickly grey neck, the only part of its body visible apart from its enormous, paw-like hands. Then it slammed its forearm into Billy's stomach, driving the wind out of him and sending him sprawling. It leveled the minigun, ready to finish the job. Billy braced for death.

"Billy!" At Rebecca's cry, the monster looked up, the barrels of its minigun stopping. Slowly the beast scanned for the source of the noise. Its one good eye focused back on the van it had passed in its pursuit of Billy, and roared. "STARS…" it growled, its voice oddly mechanical. Then, as if it had forgotten all about Billy, it spun on its massive heels and ran after Rebecca.

Billy heard the others open fire, bullets striking the monster, but doing nothing to slow it down. Casually it backhanded Kevin, sending the man sprawling. It ignored Mat and Chase, until Mat got between it and Rebecca, when it let out an infuriated snarl and slammed him into the bottom of the van. Rebecca drew her handgun and opened fire, trying to protect her friend, and for a moment it seemed conflicted, trying to decide which it wanted to kill more: Mat or Rebecca. It balled up its huge fist, ready to crush one of them under its awesome power.

Then Chase shot it in the knee with his M14, and it let out a howl, dropping down on one knee, supporting its massive weight on its undamaged leg and one fist.

"C'mon!" Chase shouted, grabbing for Dean. Rebecca managed to rouse Mat and Kevin, and they started for the building Kevin had opened. Then the monster stood back up, spinning up its minigun, and they all froze..

Then, the monster exploded in a flash of fire, stumbling, dropping the ruined weapon, staring at its blistered hands.

Billy broke open the M79, dropping the spent shell and loading a fresh one. He'd brought the weapon with him from the station, but hadn't thought it'd be necessary…until it suddenly was. "Come on!" he shouted, firing the weapon again, this time from the hip. The Tyrant was a big target, but he was still surprised when he managed to hit it square in the chest, causing it to stumble.

Mat unslung his P90 and opened fire as well, but his armor piercing bullets still didn't have enough get up and go to get through the thing's skin. They did manage to piss the thing off, though, because it spun to face Mat, growling and striding purposefully forward.

_No you stupid kid, move!_ Billy silently screamed. He brought the M79 to his shoulder and fired again, the shell striking the monster square between the shoulder blades. A few others were shooting at the creature, but it ignored them. It was like it had focused in on Mat for some reason, and wasn't going to be dissuaded until he was dead.

"STARS" it bellowed again.

"C'mon!" Chase shouted.

Mat turned to him. "Get Rebecca out of here. I'll lure it away."  
>"Are you insane?" Chase snapped, shaking his head. "Come on, let's <em>go<em>."

"You heard that thing" Rebecca protested. "It's after me, not you."

"I think it wants us all" he replied. "Everybody who was in the mansion back in July. It's out for blood. Our own personal revenge killer." He turned to look at the monster, which was getting closer, despite everything Billy could do to slow it down. "There's no more time. Go on. I'll catch up."

"Promise me" Rebecca said.

Mat looked at her for a minute, then nodded. "I'll be back."

"_Promise_ me" she repeated.

"Come _on_" Chase said through gritted teeth.

Mat leaned forward and kissed Rebecca's cheek. "I promise. Now go!" Without waiting, he vaulted over the van, brought his P90 up, and shot the Tyrant again. "Come on you bastard, _come on!_"

Slowly, ponderously, the Tyrant turned and began to follow. Billy watched Chase lead Rebecca inside, then broke open the M79 again and slid in a new shell. He was running out of those, but it was the only thing he had that could slow down the monster. He had no intention of letting Mat Dawson martyr himself, despite whatever the younger man had in mind.

But Mat was proving capable of taking care of himself. He darted forward, running into the midst of the soldiers who'd broken cover to watch the RPD fight the Tyrant. They stared at each other in confusion, apparently unsure whether to try to shoot him or get out of the way.

Then the Tyrant was among them, and it turned into a massacre. The monster probably would've let them go if they'd just stood aside, but they kept getting between it and Mat, so it kept flattening. The soldiers were sprawled out, broken and bleeding, in a matter of seconds.

Mat turned to fire his P90 again, but the thing was apparently closer than he'd thought, because it grabbed him by the throat, hoisting him into the air with one handed. Mat gagged and kicked at the monster, but its huge paw was clasped around his neck, and he couldn't free himself.

Billy stopped within a few feet of the two, weighing his options. The M79 might cause the thing to drop Mat…but the 40mm grenade might also kill him. Still, if he didn't act fast, that was going to happen anyway.

Billy watched as a strange yellowish mist began to form around the Tyrant's free hand. A long, pinkish appendage extended from its wrist like a spear. _Time to act_ he thought, raising the M79.

He aimed the weapon at Tyrant…then shifted up a little, aiming at the highway overpass above. More specifically, at one vehicle parked there in particular.

He saw Mat yank his knife from its sheath and slam it into the Tyrant's wrist, burying the blade to the hilt. The monster howled in pain and dropped him to the street. Mat sat there for a moment, staring up at the huge monster as it raised its boot go crush him.

Billy fired, Mat rolled out of the way, there was an explosion, a crash, and a groan of metal. The Tyrant looked up just in time to see the armored car as it plummeted down at it like something from an old cartoon. Then the car hit the monster and flattened it like a pancake.

Mat sat on the ground for a moment, panting, massaging his neck, his face pale. Then he looked over at Billy. "Thanks" he said weakly. "Thanks for that."  
>Billy shrugged, walking over to help him up. "Hell kid, that was nothing. Next time, you can save me. Sound fair?"<p>

He was almost to Mat when the car shifted, falling to its side…and revealing the Tyrant still on its feet.

"Bullshit!" he exclaimed, leveling the M79. "I dropped a fucking armored car on you! I call bullshit!"

Mat shakily stood up, leveling the P90 and opening fire. The monster turned, swung its wrist, and casually backhanded him, sending him sprawling. Then it turned its attention toward Billy.

"Oh shit" he muttered, stepping back, breaking the M79 open, loading it, then preparing to fire from the hip. He needed to do it fast; otherwise the thing would get too close and he'd be caught in the explosion.

Then he noticed a trail of liquid flowing down the street. His eyes darted back its source, where Mat had kicked over a big, red drum of what had to be something explosive. He saw the other man drawing his handgun. _Shit._ "Oh, hell-!" he shouted, but Mat ignored him, leveling the Colt.

"Burn, you son of a bitch" he said, pulling the trigger.

Billy dove clear, the flames shooting across the gasoline, rising high, higher than the Tyrant was tall. It let out a bellow of rage, cut off from Billy, who was safely on the outside of the partial ring of fire Mat had created.

That meant Mat was on the other side, though. Trapped with the monster.

"Go!" he shouted, waving, motioning Billy to leave him. "There's nothing you can do. Get out of here. And tell Rebecca…tell her I'm sorry."

The monster threw back its head and bellowed, a long, loud, wordless roar at the early morning sky.

"Come on! Come on and finish it!" Billy heard Mat shout, opening fire with the P90. Then he turned and ran.

**End of Part Two**


	39. Epilogue

Epilogue: Daylight

(JILL)

Jill paused, ejecting the magazine from her Samurai Edge and counting her bullets. Eight left. Not great odds, but she'd seen worse. She sighed, shaking her head, amazed she was still alive after the nightmare of last night. After the mansion, she'd thought she was ready for anything. It turned out she'd been wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

She'd met up with a small group of survivors at a bus station. They wedged a bench in front of the big plastic doors, but that wouldn't have held the few undead out for long had she not arrived when she did. Jill was impressed her handgun training hadn't degraded much in the past few months. _No, I've still got it_ she thought, smirking a little.

Not that it had helped much. There were seven civilians, none of whom were armed, and that proved to be just too big a number for her to keep track of. Slowly, methodically, they were whittled down to just two, a heavy-set man claiming to be a semi-famous writer Jill had never heard of, and his teenage daughter. Both were clearly terrified, and the man was overly loud, which only made matters worse for everyone, since his frantic voice echoed over the empty streets. It was clearly fraying his daughter's resolve, but he didn't seem to be catching on. Jill was seriously considering shooting the man now and taking the girl, in order to ensure at least two of them made it out alive. She hadn't quite gotten that far, but it was a difficult struggle.

Slowly, painfully, they pressed on through the streets. The sun rose into the sky, its light making its way through the smoke choked skies, causing strange shadows to develop in the eaves of the tall buildings where Jill suspected just about anything could've been hiding.

"Daylight" she muttered quietly, to soft for the others to hear. The last time she'd been in this situation, the sun had been a welcome relief, a sign that the worst was over.

Now Jill knew better. Now she knew it was just beginning.

END

Alright, _Into the Storm _is now finished. I'll bet you didn't expect it, but I'm planning on splitting the Outbreak up among multiple stories, just so it'll be easy to get everything that needs to happen out of the way. Thanks so much for staying with me through this and my past stories. It's been quite a blast writing for you guys, and I look forward to doing it for a while yet.

-Godzillafan93


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